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ROMAN

in the Provinces

Art on the Periphery of Empire

edited by Lisa R. Brody and Gail L. Hoffman

ROMAN

in the Provinces

Art on the Periphery of Empire

edited by Lisa R. Brody and Gail L. Hoffman

McMullen Museum of Art, Boston College
distributed by the University of Chicago Press

This publication is issued in conjunction with the exhibition Roman in the Provinces: Art
on the Periphery of Empire held at the Yale University Art Gallery from August 22, 2014 to
January 4, 2015 and at the McMullen Museum of Art, Boston College from February 14 to
May 31, 2015. Organized by the Yale University Art Gallery and the McMullen Museum
of Art, Roman in the Provinces has been curated by Lisa R. Brody and Gail L. Hoffman.
The exhibition has been underwritten by Sharon and Richard A. Hurowitz, the National
Endowment for the Arts, the Yale University Art Gallery Exhibition and Publication Fund,
Boston College, the Patrons of the McMullen Museum, and Leslie and Peter Ciampi.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013952353
ISBN: 978-1-892850-22-5

Distributed by the University of Chicago Press
Printed in the United States of America

Designer: John McCoy
Copyeditor: Kate Shugert

Cover: Detail of mosaic floor with geometric design, Gerasa, Church of Bishop Paul (Pro-
copius Church), c. 526 CE, Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-British School Excavations at
Gerasa, 1929.418 (see plate 4)

Figure credits (see captions for additional information): Map: Christopher Sleboda and
Mike Krol/John McCoy; 1.1-2: Visual Resources Department, Yale University Art Gallery;

I. 3-5: Dura-Europos Collection, Yale University Art Gallery; 1.6-8: Gerasa Collection, Yale
University Art Gallery; 2.1: John McCoy; 2.5: Dura-Europos Collection, Yale University Art
Gallery; 3.1, 3.3: David J. Mattingly/John McCoy; 4.2, 4.4-5: The Trustees of the British
Museum; 4.6: Granger Collection, New York; 5.1: Johannes Laurentius, Art Resource, NY;
5.2: The Trustees of the British Museum; 5.3: Vanni Archive, Art Resource, NY; 5.4: S. Van-
ning DeA Picture Library, Art Resource, NY; 5.5-7: Kimberly Cassibry; 5.8: Alinari, Art
Resource, NY; 5.9-10: Gilles Mermet, Art Resource, NY; 5.12: Gianni Dagli Orti, Art Re-
source, NY; 5.13: SEF, Art Resource, NY; 5.14: Kimberly Cassibry; 6.1: Simon James; 6.2:
Dura-Europos Collection, Yale University Art Gallery; 6.3-5: Simon James; 6.6: G. Petruc-
cioli, New York University Excavations at Aphrodisias; 7.1-9: Elizabeth M. Greene; 8.1:
Matthew M. McCarty; 8.2: Matthew M. McCarty/John McCoy; 8.4: Dura-Europos Collec-
tion, Yale University Art Gallery; 8.6, 8.8: Matthew M. McCarty; 8.9: Alexandru Diacones-
cu; 9.2-3: John McCoy; 10.5: Wikimedia Commons; 11.1: Jeremy Cole Miller/John McCoy;

II. 2-3: Radu Oltean, Wikimedia Commons; 11.4-5: Radu Oltean, Muzeul de Cercetari
Eco-Muzeale Tulcea; 11.6: Creative Commons; 11.7-10: Andre Gonciar, Brukenthal Mu-
seum, Sibiu; 12.1-2: John McCoy; 13.1-10: Nancy Netzer; 15.1-5: Gerasa Collection, Yale
University Art Gallery; 15.7: Creative Commons; 15.8: Gerasa Collection, Yale University
Art Gallery.

iQiDliMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMii

Contents

Preface i

Nancy Netzer and Jock Reynolds

Excavations and Identities: Art from the Roman Provinces
at the Yale University Art Gallery 3

Lisa R. Brody

Being Roman in the Provinces: Experiences of Empire and

Investigations of Identities 13

Gail L. Hoffman

Identities in the Roman World: Discrepancy, Heterogeneity,

Hybridity, and Plurality 35

David J. Mattingly

Household Objects and Social Memories in Roman Spain and

Gaul 61

Andrew C. Johnston

Honoring the Empress Julia Domna on Arch Monuments in

Rome and North Africa 75

Kimberly Cassibry

The “Romanness of the Soldiers”: Barbarized Periphery or

Imperial Core? 91

Simon James

Impressions of Identity: Choosing a Signet Ring in the
Roman Army 109

Elizabeth M. Greene

Local Idioms and Global Meanings: Mithraism and Roman

Provincial Art 125

Lucinda Dirven and Matthew M. McCarty

Provincial Cults of Mars in the Roman Empire 143

Tyler V. Franconi

The Fate of Serapis: A Paradigm for Transformations in the

Culture and Art of Late Roman Egypt 153

Ann M. Nicgorski

Dacian Riders: Transcultural Expressions of Religious

Identity in Roman Dacia in the Midst of War 167

Alvaro Ibarra

Struggling to Be Roman in a Former Roman Province 181

Robin Fleming

Displaying Roman Britain in the British Museum 195

Nancy Netzer

Roman Provincial Coinage 215

William E. Metcalf

The Geras a Mosaics of Yale: Intentionality and Design 221

Christine Kondoleon

Plates 235

Contributors

35i

Roman Empire at its greatest extent, 2nd century CE

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Preface

Nancy Netzer and Jock Reynolds

In June 2011 at the McMullen Museum, during the packing of Dura-Europos: Crossroads
of Antiquity, the previous collaborative exhibition between our institutions, the exhibitions
co-curator Lisa R. Brody, Yale University Art Gallery’s Associate Curator of Ancient Art,
mused about organizing a sequel exhibition. Its goal would be to focus on other works from
the periphery of the Roman Empire — primarily from the collections of the Gallery — to ex-
plore limitations of the concept of “Roman art” as it pertains to production in the far-flung
provinces, each of which had its own indigenous culture and artistic tradition. Rather than
seeking recognizably Roman elements in provincial objects, this exhibition would explore
the various ways that people inhabiting the Roman Empire constructed and expressed their
local social, religious, civic, and cultural identities. In other words, the exhibition and ac-
companying publication would examine what the material culture reveals about how peo-
ple in the provinces responded to being Roman. The McMullen immediately offered to be
a partner in this endeavor, with Gail L. Hoffman, Assistant Professor of Classical Studies at
Boston College, once again serving as co-curator with Brody. Thus, the present exhibition
and publication were born.

During the ensuing years, Brody and Hoffman chose and refined the list of works to be
included from the Yale collection, adding several loans from public institutions and many
textiles from a local private collection. They assembled an outstanding team of scholars
from around the world to contribute essays to this volume, and Brody organized a two-day
symposium in September 2013, hosted by Yale, for the scholars to share research and ideas
and to study the works to be displayed.

Needless to say, it is Hoffman and Brody to whom we owe our greatest debt of gratitude.
We thank them for putting their abundant disciplinary expertise and intellectual creativity
into the service of organizing this exhibition and editing this volume. Their collaboration
serves as a model of its kind. We also extend appreciation to the scholars who contributed
essays to the book: Lisa R. Brody, Kimberly Cassibry, Lucinda Dirven, Robin Fleming, Tyler
V. Franconi, Elizabeth M. Greene, Gail L. Hoffman, Alvaro Ibarra, Simon James, Andrew
C. Johnston, Christine Kondoleon, David J. Mattingly, Matthew M. McCarty, William E.
Metcalf, and Ann M. Nicgorski.

Of course, none of this would have been possible without the wisdom and help of our
colleagues. At the Yale University Art Gallery, we recognize especially Susan B. Matheson,
Laurence Kanter, Pamela Franks, and Ian McClure for wise counsel and support of the proj-
ect; Carol Snow, Anne Gunnison, Elena Torok, and Joseluis Lazarte Luna for conserving

Nancy Netzer and Jock Reynolds

objects in the exhibition; Jason DeBlock, Laura Hartman, Robin Hodgson, Frank Johnson,
Sue Kiss, Ashley Kosa, Lillia McEnaney, Sarah Norvell, Vicky Onofrio, Paul Panamarenko,
Megan Salas, and Catherine Stevens for work on the Gerasa mosaic; Thomas Biggs, Amelia
Eichengreen, and Benjamin Jerue for the exhibition didactics; Christopher Sleboda, Mike
Krol, Tiffany Sprague, and Molly Balikov for graphic design and editing; John ffrench, Rich-
ard House, Anthony De Camillo, and David Whaples for photography for the catalogue;
Jeffrey Yoshimine, Anna Russell, Clarkson Crolius, and Christina Czap for assistance with
the installation at the Gallery; Lynne Addison and Amy Dowe for overseeing loan arrange-
ments; and Megan Doyon for help organizing the symposium and exhibition.

At Boston College, special acknowledgment is owed to John McCoy, who designed this
publication and exhibition graphics; Kate Shugert, who copyedited all materials and man-
aged this books production; Diana Larsen, who designed the McMullen installation; Kerry
Burke, who photographed textiles for the catalogue; David Quigley, Patricia DeLeeuw,
Mary Crane, Charles Ahern, Kendra Eshleman, and Brigitte Libby, who provided advice
and support; and Chris Canniff, Andrew Gilbert, C. J. Miller, Logan Wren, and the students
in the seminar on the exhibition, FA370, taught in the fall of 2013, all ofwhom assisted with
organization and research.

We are grateful to several scholars for participation in the symposium and for sharing
unpublished research: Jennifer Baird, Sebastian Heath, Thomas Morton, Marden Nichols,
Candace Rice, and Ben Rubin. For their generous loans, we thank Donald and Barbara
Tellalian; Malcolm Rogers, Christine Kondoleon, and Rita Freed at the Museum of Fine
Arts, Boston; James Christen Steward and Michael Padgett at the Princeton University Art
Museum; and Julia Marciari- Alexander at the Walters Art Museum, Baltimore.

As always, we could not have attempted such an ambitious project were it not for the
continued generosity of the administrations of our respective institutions and the McMul-
len family. For major support of the exhibition, we are indebted to Sharon and Richard A.
Hurowitz, Leslie and Peter Ciampi, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the Patrons
of the McMullen Museum. This project would not have come to fruition without the collec-
tive contributions of everyone mentioned here.

Nancy Netzer

Director and Professor of Art History, McMullen Museum of Art
Jock Reynolds

Henry J. Heinz II Director, Yale University Art Gallery

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Excavations and Identities: Art from the Roman
Provinces at the Yale University Art Gallery

Lisa R. Brody

Yale University has a long and distinguished history of interest in excavating the ancient
world. Its involvement during the 1920s and 1930s in two simultaneous archaeological
projects — Dura-Europos, in modern-day Syria, and Gerasa, in Jordan — brought a signif-
icant collection of artifacts and historical records to New Haven. As features of the per-
manent installation of ancient Mediterranean art at the Yale University Art Gallery, and as
resources for researchers, the objects and archives from these excavations provide valuable
insight into life in the eastern Mediterranean in the Roman and early Byzantine eras. The
exhibition Roman in the Provinces: Art on the Periphery of Empire draws upon strengths
of the Gallery’s entire ancient collection and archives, supplemented with important loans
from collaborating institutions, with the goal of putting Dura-Europos and Gerasa into a
broader geographical and historical context and showing how these provincial Roman cit-
ies fit into the larger picture of the ancient world.

In 2011, while the Yale University Art Gallery was undergoing a major renovation and
expansion, a special exhibition was organized by the Gallery in collaboration with the
McMullen Museum of Art at Boston College, curated by Lisa R. Brody and Gail L. Hoff-
man. This exhibition, Dura-Europos: Crossroads of Antiquity, brought artifacts out of the
Gallery’s storage facilities, many of them newly restored, to show the amazing juxtapo-
sition of cultures that existed in the ancient city. An accompanying publication, with the
same title, contains scholarly essays by international specialists from diverse fields (archae-
ologists, art historians, linguists, classicists, and theologians), focusing on the discovery,
conservation, and interpretation of objects in the show as well as other aspects of life and
identity in ancient Dura-Europos. The exhibition traveled to the Institute for the Study of
the Ancient World at New York University in the fall of 2011, where it appeared under the
title Edge of Empires: Pagans, Jews, and Christians at Roman Dura-Europos.

The new permanent installations at Yale officially opened to the public in December 2012
and include the Mary and James Ottaway Gallery of Dura-Europos, a thematic display that
focuses on the history of the city, the site’s extraordinary preservation, and the evidence of
multiculturalism and exchange in the archaeological remains (fig. 1.1). Objects from Gerasa
are also on view, in the adjacent Isabel B. and Wallace S. Wilson Gallery of Ancient Art. The
city mosaic from the Church of Saints Peter and Paul (plate 3), after decades in storage and
an innovative conservation treatment, is now displayed on the central wall of the Gallery

Lisa R. Brody

and is recognized as one of Yales greatest
treasures (fig. 1.2). Following the open-
ing, planning commenced for a logical
next step: a special exhibition that would
place these sites and others into much
broader context and explore the multifac-
eted identities within the provinces of the
Roman Empire.

The vast success of Roman imperial-
ism, which reached its greatest geographic
expanse in the second century CE (see
map, p. v), meant that regions as dispa-
rate and far-flung as Syria, Turkey, Gaul,
Britain, Egypt, and Tunisia became, to
varying degrees, Roman. The concept of a
Roman identity or identities and what that
meant to inhabitants varied significantly
in different parts of the empire. Earlier
scholarship in this field used the term
“Romanization,” but more recent research
and analysis has shown the concept rep-
resented by this word to be inadequate, as
it implies a single- directional, top-down
process. In fact, Roman provincial identi-
ties resulted from a much more complex
system of exchange and influence.

Identities in the provinces could also
vary within a particular town or city
depending on the specific context, includ-
ing the home (both as a private space and
as a space for hosting visitors) and the community (public religious spaces, areas of arti-
san production or commerce, etc.). The exhibition explores each of these contexts through
works of art that show how elements of Roman culture were juxtaposed with local tradition
and what this reveals about Roman identities around the empire. Focusing primarily on the
eastern Mediterranean in the Roman and early Byzantine periods, as this is the material
that provides the most relevant context for Dura-Europos and Gerasa, the exhibition also
looks elsewhere around the empire. Mechanisms of exchange and contact, including trade,
manufacture, imperial influence, and military maneuvers, are explored through examina-
tion of the archaeological record.

Dura-Europos

The ancient city of Dura-Europos, named Europos by the Macedonian (Seleucid) Greeks
who founded it around 300 BCE and known as Dura (“the fortress” in Aramaic) to subse-
quent local inhabitants, was as ethnically and culturally mixed as its modern compound
designation would suggest. In many ways it was a Greek urban center, with Greek- influ-
enced architecture, street plan, religion, and art. Much of its population, however, was of
a local Syro-Mesopotamian origin, and these inhabitants clung firmly to various cultural
elements, integrating them with imported Greek ones. In the second century CE, Dura
was seized by the Romans, in their fight against the Parthian Empire, and an additional
cultural and ethnic presence arrived strongly on the scene. Sub-groups within the pop-

1.1. Mary and Janies Ottaway Gallery of Dura-Europos at the Yale
University Art Gallery.

i.2. Isabel B. and Wallace S. Wilson Gallery of Ancient Art at the Yale
University Art Gallery.

Excavations and Identities: Art from the Roman Provinces at the Yale University Art Gallery

1.3. Franz Cumont and Michael Rostovtzeff in front of the
Mithraeum at Dura-Europos, 1933-34.

ulation of Dura included Syrians (especially
Palmyrenes), Mesopotamians, Greeks, Roman
soldiers, conscripted “barbarians” from north-
ern Europe, Jews, and Christians. All of these
groups left their mark on the archaeological
remains of the city, whose excavation and anal-
ysis illuminates the deep cultural interactions
that were common in the ancient Mediterra-
nean world. The objects that survive from Du-
ra-Europos date predominantly from the final
phase of its history — the second century and
first half of the third century CE — when it was
a Roman garrison town on the eastern edge of
the empire. In this period, the population in-
cluded soldiers and civilians; Jews, pagans, and
Christians; and natives as well as immigrants
from as far away as Britain or Rome.

Archaeological investigation of Dura-Eu-
ropos was undertaken in 1920, after British
troops uncovered some wall paintings there
and immediately requested a consultation by
American archaeologist James Henry Breasted,
who was working in Syria. The region was
under French mandate at the time, and the
first excavations in 1922-24 were sponsored
by the French Academie des Inscriptions et
Belles-Lettres and directed by Belgian scholar
Franz Cumont. After a four-year hiatus, the
Academie agreed upon a collaboration with
Yale, and 10 seasons of intensive investiga-
tion followed — from 1928 to 1937 — overseen
by Russian scholar and Yale classics professor
Mikhail (Michael) I. Rostovtzeff (fig. 1.3). Suc-
cessive field directors included French archae-
ologist and architect Maurice Pillet (1928-31)
and Clark Hopkins and Frank E. Brown, both
of Yale (1932-35 and 1936-37, respectively)

(figs. 1.4-5). Funding for the project ran out
after the tenth season, and little additional
work took place at the site until the mid-1980s,
when a new Franco- Syrian research project
began under the direction of Pierre Leriche,
involving a team of international scholars.

Because of Yales involvement in the criti-
cal early investigations of Dura-Europos, the
archives of the Yale University Art Gallery and
Yale’s Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library contain a tremendously important col-
lection of photographs, artifact cards, field notebooks, and other records from the excava-
tion, in addition to the over 12,000 objects that represent Yales share of the objects found.
Digitized photographs from the Dura-Europos excavations (as well as those from the Yale
excavation of ancient Gerasa in Jordan) are available to scholars through collaboration with

1.4. Excavation team at Dura-Europos, 1931-32 (Clark Hopkins in
front row, left, and Henry Pearson standing third from left).

1.5. Frank Brown and crew at Dura-Europos, 1934-35.

Lisa R. Brody

the Artstor Digital Library.1 Plans are underway to make all of these images even more uni-
versally accessible. Approximately 150 parchment and papyrus documents from Dura that
are currently preserved at the Beinecke are also available online.2

The Mary and James Ottaway Gallery of Ancient Dura-Europos at the Yale University
Art Gallery provides a thematic look at the ancient city and its archaeological explora-
tion. This gallery presents to the public approximately 200 objects, numerous excavation
photographs and drawings, and a computer kiosk with additional information, archival
documents, and virtual 3-D renderings of the Mithraeum, the Synagogue, and the Chris-
tian House-Church.3 Situated immediately adjacent to the Isabel B. and Wallace S. Wilson
Gallery of Ancient Art, the Dura-Europos gallery explores themes of daily life, religion,
military, and death, using the extraordinarily preserved material remains from the site to
investigate how the arrival and conquest of Rome affected identities there, how its multi-
culturalism manifested itself in various contexts, and how “being Roman” at Dura-Europos
related to identities elsewhere in the Roman world.

Gerasa

In contrast to Dura-Europos, which was buried in the sands of the Syrian Desert from its
conquest by the Sasanians until the twentieth century, the magnificent standing ruins of an-
cient Gerasa have always been known. Also in contrast to Dura, Gerasa was occupied long
beyond the Roman period, continuously into the Ottoman era. Sporadic surface explora-
tion and soundings of the site took place during the late nineteenth and early twentieth
centuries, culminating in the systematic excavation project that Yale participated in around
the same time that a team from Yale was working at Dura-Europos.

Ancient Gerasa, located beneath the modern city of Jerash on the Chrysorhoas River
in Jordan, is a site that contributes much to scholars’ understanding of the Roman and
Byzantine Near East. As with Dura-Europos, the city’s long and significant history has been
revealed by its high level of preservation and years of systematic archaeological explora-
tion. The site was first explored in the
1920s and 1930s by the team of schol-
ars from Yale University, the British
School of Archaeology in Jerusalem,
and the American Schools of Orien-
tal Research (fig. 1.6).4 These excava-
tions focused primarily on the early
Byzantine churches and their asso-
ciated pagan temples. The areas have
been further investigated since 1982
by the Jerash Archaeological Project,
sponsored by Jordan’s Department of
Antiquities and involving a team of
scholars from several countries. This
project has expanded its focus to study
other aspects of the Roman city, such
as the hippodrome, as well as the site’s Islamic structures, including houses, shops, and a
large Umayyad mosque.5

Gerasa is the best preserved of the Decapolis, a collective of 10 cities in Roman Judea
and Syria.6 Due to its strategic position along ancient trade routes, it is considered to have
been one of the most important cities in the Roman Near East. Although sources such as
Pliny the Elder (HN 5.16.74) imply that the Decapolis was founded during the Hellenistic
period (c. 323-63 BCE), excavations at Gerasa have found evidence of occupation as least

i.6. Excavation team at Gerasa, 1928-29.

Excavations and Identities: Art from the Roman Provinces at the Yale University Art Gallery

as early as the Bronze Age (second to third millennium BCE). The first and second cen-
turies CE were a time of great prosperity for Gerasa, reflected architecturally by its paved
and colonnaded streets (fig. 1.7), theaters, temples, baths, fountains, grand public squares,
and a hippodrome. A monumental triumphal arch dedicated to the emperor Hadrian was
erected to commemorate the rulers visit to Gerasa in 129/30 (fig. 1.8). The city is estimated
to have housed a population of approximately 20,000 at this time. Gerasa’s wealth gradually
diminished during the third century CE, as many of the overland trade routes that had con-
tributed to its growth and prosperity were
superseded by maritime routes.

By the fourth century, the population
of Gerasa included a significant Christian
community.7 The fifth and sixth centuries
saw the construction of more than a dozen
churches in the city, including a cathe-
dral, most of them adorned with elabo-
rate mosaic floors and architectural detail.

Although the Persian invasion of 614 and
the Muslim conquest of 636 contributed to
the city’s decline, recent excavations have
revealed a still thriving city in the Uma-
yyad period (661-750).8 Gerasa was hit
hard by a series of earthquakes in 749, and
its population decreased sharply. The site
remained virtually abandoned, its ruins
always a remarkable feature of the Jorda-
nian landscape. Europeans rediscovered
the site in the early nineteenth century.

It was first visited by the German traveler
Ulrich Jasper Seetzen in 1806 and then by
Johann Ludwig Burckhardt and James Silk
Buckingham in 1812 and 1816, respec-
tively, all of whom explored the area and
recorded visible archaeological remains.

The joint Yale-British School expedi-
tion to Gerasa was first proposed in Sep-
tember 1927 at a meeting at the American
Schools of Oriental Research. The project
was twofold: to excavate the Church of
Saint Theodore and other churches and
to publish a series of inscriptions that had recently been found at the site. Yales primary
interest was in the churches, the British School’s in the inscriptions. The expedition was
approved and financial support obtained; work began in the spring of 1928 under the direc-
tion of Yale’s Professor Benjamin W. Bacon and the director of the British School, John
Winter Crowfoot (who also served as field director). In 1930, the British School withdrew
from the collaboration and Yale continued the project with the participation of the Amer-
ican School of Oriental Research in Jerusalem, co-directed by Yale Professors Bacon and
Rostovtzeff, on behalf of the Archaeological Committee of Yale University and the Execu-
tive Committee of the American Schools. Clarence S. Fisher and Chester C. McCown of the
American School in Jerusalem acted as field directors beginning in the 1930 season.

Reduced funding resulted in a small-scale excavation in 1931, no work at all in 1932,
and another small-scale investigation in 1933 under Nelson Glueck, director of the Amer-

1.7. Via Antoninianus at Gerasa, 1931.

1.8. Arch of Hadrian at Gerasa, 1930-31.

Lisa R. Brody

ican School at Jerusalem, while Fisher was temporarily occupied with the excavations at
Antioch. The final season in which Yale participated in the Gerasa excavations, 1934, was
led by Carl Kraeling, then acting director of the American School. As a result of this project,
the Yale University Art Gallery received approximately 540 artifacts from Gerasa, over half
of which are mosaic floor fragments and lamps. A select number of these objects, including
two important mosaics, are now on view in the Gallery’s Isabel B. and Wallace S. Wilson
Gallery of Ancient Art (plate 3 and fig. 15.6). The mosaic on display from the Church of
Saints Peter and Paul, showing images of Alexandria and Memphis, underwent a major con-
servation treatment that allowed it to be included in the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Byz-
antium and Islam: Age of Transition exhibition in the spring of 2012 before being installed
in Yale’s newly renovated gallery.9 The innovative conservation techniques that were devel-
oped for the city mosaic10 were adapted for the treatment of the geometric mosaic from the
Procopius Church; it is on display for the first time in this exhibition (plate 4).

Other Collections of Roman Provincial Art at Yale

Another strength of the Gallery’s collection of ancient art is an assortment of pottery, lamps,
and figurines that were purchased from the American Colony Store in Jerusalem in 1914;
it is now known as the Whiting Palestinian Collection.11 The objects had been acquired in
Syria and Palestine by John D. Whiting and others, mostly between 1909 and 1912. Several
objects in the exhibition belong to this collection (see plates 155-59). Although most of
them were purchased from Arab farmers and dealers and lack precise excavated contexts,
the members of the American Colony recognized the importance of trying to obtain as
much provenance information as possible: “Full inquiries were always made as to the lo-
cality and type of tomb or other position in which the objects were found.”12 The artifacts
remain valuable documents of the eastern Roman provinces.

A large number of the Gallery’s ancient Greek and Roman vases belong to the Rebecca
Darlington Stoddard Collection, named for the donor who gave Yale the money to acquire
the collection in 191 3. 13 The vases were purchased from the German classical archaeologist
Paul Arndt, who had bought the majority of them at a Paris auction, with others added in
subsequent years to fill in specific gaps to create a comprehensive collection for teaching
Greek and Roman art. The collection ranges from prehistoric Egyptian (c. 5000 BCE) to
late Roman and Egyptian (third to sixth century CE) and includes lamps as well as vessels.
It continues to be an essential core of Yale’s object-based courses in ancient art, and several
of the vases are included in the exhibition (see, for example, plates 118-20, 123-27, 160-62,
166).

Another significant collection of objects, particularly featuring artifacts of the ancient
Americas and late Roman Egypt, were donated to the Gallery in the 1950s by Frederick
and Florence Olsen and their charitable organization. Of these, several Egyptian textiles
and limestone relief sculptures have been selected for Roman in the Provinces (see plates
131-35, 138-39, 145, 149). Many of these objects were first shown in an exhibition called
Coptic Art, which appeared in the Olsen’s Guilford, Connecticut home in November and
December 1955. 14

Several other objects in the exhibition were acquired by the Gallery in the 1980s as part
of a substantial gift of antiquities from William L. Eagleton Jr. (1926-2011), a 1948 graduate
of Yale College. Eagleton served as United States Ambassador to several countries over the
course of two decades (1967-88), including Yemen, Tunisia, Libya, Algeria, Iraq, and Syria.
During his terms of service in Syria and Tunisia, he amassed a large and interesting collec-
tion of Roman pottery, sculpture, intaglios, cylinder seals, lamps, and lamp molds. Several
of these objects are in the exhibition and, together with related excavated examples, pro-
vide clear evidence for trade and other means of cultural interaction in the Roman Empire

Excavations and Identities: Art from the Roman Provinces at the Yale University Art Gallery

(plates 121-22, 165, 167). The intaglios in particular, none of which has been published
previously, provide instructive comparisons with excavated examples from Dura-Europos
and feature images that are also seen on coins and other works of art from the Roman prov-
inces (see plates 45-58).

Another gift to the Gallery in 2008 from Thomas John Crockett III (1921-2011), con-
sisting primarily of pottery and terracotta oil lamps, significantly increased the Gallery’s
holdings of objects from Roman North Africa (see plates 163-64). Though an alumnus of
Harvard, Mr. Crockett was a native of Unionville, Connecticut, and chose to donate various
portions of his private collection to Yale as well as to the Wadsworth Atheneum, the New
Britain Museum of American Art, and the Gallery of Art at St. Joseph College in West
Hartford. Tike William Eagleton, Crockett had served as a diplomat in the US Department
of State for 40 years (though not as ambassador), and he had purchased most of the objects
in Tunisia while stationed there during the late 1960s and early 1970s. Although none has
known excavated context, several of the artifacts had been said by the sellers to have been
found in or near the important Roman site of El Djem.

Objects Loaned to the Exhibition

Supplementing the Gallery’s permanent collection in the exhibition are significant, careful-
ly selected objects from the Princeton University Art Museum, the Walters Art Museum,
and the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. This wonderful assortment of objects, several of
which have known archaeological provenance, provides a critical complement to the other
works of art in the exhibition.

The exhibition features five objects from Princeton’s excavations at Antioch-on-the-
Orontes (modern Antakya, in Turkey near the Syrian border), including two fragmentary
funerary reliefs, both with banquet iconography (plates 179-80), and three portrait heads
(two female, one male; plates 82-84). Archaeological investigation of Antioch began in
1932 by the Committee for the Excavation of Antioch and Its Vicinity, a collaborative proj-
ect involving Princeton University, the Musees Nationaux de France (Louvre), the Balti-
more Museum of Art, and the Worcester Art Museum. These committee members were
joined in 1936 by the Fogg Art Museum at Harvard University and Dumbarton Oaks.15 The
objects from Antioch comprise a vital component of the exhibition, since the site provides
a vivid case study alongside Dura-Europos: a large and sophisticated urban metropolis as
compared to a remote garrison town.

The exhibition also includes another work of art on loan from Princeton: a high-quality
portrait of a man wearing the distinctive crown that identifies him as a priest of the impe-
rial cult (featuring busts of the emperor and his family; plate 79). This object coordinates
with other pieces in the exhibition to illustrate the emperor’s influence on the identities of
newly Roman regions, seen most strongly in public building programs, honorific sculpture,
design of coinage, and, as here, imperial cult worship.

The Walters Art Museum loans two objects to the exhibition — a silver pitcher from
Gaul decorated with Bacchic imagery and a bone plaque from Alexandria depicting a semi-
nude female figure resembling Aphrodite (plates 171, 174). Both of these objects contribute
in multiple significant ways toward the themes of the exhibition. The silver pitcher is a
high-quality luxury work that would have adorned the household of an upper-class family
in Roman Gaul. Such objects were imitated in glass and ceramic, for families who could not
afford the originals. Prized possessions like these would have been in high demand, manu-
factured and traded, and passed down as heirlooms within a family. The bone plaque is not
as expensive an object, but it still represents a category of adornment that adopts images
seen also in stone sculpture, mosaics, and textiles. As one of the most important and pop-
ular divinities in the Greco -Roman world, Aphrodite is found throughout the empire, her

attributes and iconography sometimes combined with those of local goddesses such as Isis,
Astarte, or Atargatis. This Alexandrian example of a semi-nude female figure connects visu-
ally with images of Aphrodite from Dura-Europos and other sites. Its fourth-century date
also illustrates the continued significance of the pagan goddess into the early Christian era.

The Museum of Fine Arts contributes several key objects to the exhibition, including a
fragment of a spectacular mosaic floor from a private home in the eastern Mediterranean
(plate 182). 16 The fragment includes two figures identified by Greek inscriptions: Ploutos
(Wealth) and Apolausis (Pleasure). The mosaic provides a strong counterpoint and bal-
ance to the mosaic from Gerasa. Roughly contemporary, they are however from different
contexts (domestic vs. public, religious) and feature very divergent art historical traditions
(mythological figural imagery vs. intricate geometric designs). The theme of luxury and
adornment represented by the MFA’s mosaic is continued in another of their loans: an ele-
gant silver figurine of a dancer, possibly from eastern Greece (plate 172). The two portraits
on loan from the museum come from Aphrodisias (plate 80) and from Athens (plate 81),
complementing Princeton’s portraits from Antioch and providing a varied look at public
honorific statuary erected around the Roman Empire over time.

Conclusion

Roman in the Provinces draws heavily on the Gallery’s permanent collection of ancient art,
with the result that there is a strong focus on the eastern Mediterranean, particularly the
Roman provinces of Syria, Judaea, and Mesopotamia. North Africa is another featured area,
including the provinces of Aegyptus, Africa Proconsularis, Numidia, and Mauretania (see
map, p. v). Objects from the excavations at Dura-Europos and Gerasa, as well as from the
University of Chicago’s excavations at Kurcoglu (artifacts from which were transferred to
the Gallery in 1940), are displayed and interpreted alongside other objects. The strong par-
allels, for example, between military trappings found at Dura-Europos and those from Ger-
many, Gaul, or Britain, speak clearly to the distinctive “culture” of the Roman military and
its influence around the provinces. Loan objects from Antioch, Aphrodisias, and Athens
provide glimpses into issues of self-representation at other important locations around the
empire. Artifacts of daily use are displayed alongside luxury objects to present a full picture
of life in the ancient world. Realities of self-representation and identity are explored among
different contexts and geographic regions. How did individuals and cities in the eastern
Mediterranean react to the spread of the Roman Empire and army, and how did that com-
pare to the reactions in North Africa, Europe, or Britain? How strong were the preexisting
local traditions, in religion, art, language, adornment, and how were these incorporated
with or absorbed by Roman modes? Might we expect to find situations where provincials
would don the toga and speak Latin in the streets, while maintaining old cults and dining
practices in the privacy of their homes? This exhibition and publication aim to address all
of these issues, presenting recent classical scholarship on Roman provincial identity and
examining works of art within the varied contexts of public civic display, public religious
space, and private households.

Excavations and Identities: Art from the Roman Provinces at the Yale University Art Gallery

1 http://www.artstor.org.

2 http://beinecke.library.yale.edu/research/library-catalogs-databases/guide-yale-papyrus
-collection.

3 This project is accessible online at http://media.artgallery.yale.edu/duraeuropos/.

4 Surface surveys and very small-scale excavations were undertaken in the late nineteenth and
early twentieth centuries. Continuous interest in the site led to more systematic exploration and
conservation of the ruins after World War I, culminating in the expedition begun by Yale Uni-
versity and the British School of Archaeology in Jerusalem (1928-30) and continued by Yale and
the American Schools of Oriental Research (1930-31, 1933-34). See John Winter Crowfoot,
Churches at Jerash: A Preliminary Report of the Joint Yale-British School Expeditions to Jerash,
1928-1930 (London: Beccles, 1931) and Carl H. Kraeling, Gerasa: City of the Decapolis (New
Haven: American Schools of Oriental Research, 1938).

5 Fawzi Zayadine, ed., Jerash Archaeological Project, 2 vols. (Amman: Department of Antiq-
uities of Jordan, 1986-89). See also Antoni Ostrasz, “The Hippodrome of Gerasa: A Report
on Excavations and Research 1982-1987,” Syria 66 (1989): 51-77; Kristoffer Damgaard and
Louise Blanke, “The Islamic Jarash Project: A Preliminary Report on the First Two Sea-
sons of Fieldwork,” Assemblage 8 (2004), http://www.assemblage.group.shef.ac.uk/issue8
/ damgaardandblanke.html.

6 See Iain Browning, Jerash and the Decapolis (London: Chatto and Windus, 1982).

7 For discussions of the later history of Gerasa, see Charles March, Spatial and Religious Transfor-
mations in the Late Antique Polis: A Multi-Disciplinary Analysis with a Case-Study of the City of
Gerasa (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2009); Annabel Jane Wharton, Refiguring the Post Classical City:
Dura Europos, Jerash, Jerusalem and Ravenna (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995).

8 On the Umayyad mosque discovered at Jerash, see Alan Walmsley, “The Friday Mosque of Early
Islamic Jarash in Jordan: The 2002 Field Season of the Danish-Jordanian Islamic Jarash Proj-
ect,” Journal of the C. L. David Collection 1 (2003): 110-31; Walmsley, “The Newly Discovered
Congregational Mosque of Jarash in Jordan,” Al-’Usur al-Wusta 15, no. 2 (2003): 17-24; Alan
Walmsley and Kristoffer Damgaard, “The Umayyad Congregational Mosque of Jarash in Jordan
and Its Relationship to Early Mosques,” Antiquity 79 (2005): 362-78.

9 Helen C. Evans and Brandie Ratliff, eds., Byzantium and Islam: Age of Transition (7th-9th Centu-
ry), exh. cat. (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2012), 12.

10 Lisa R. Brody and Carol Snow, “History and Treatment of the Gerasa City Mosaic at the Yale
University Art Gallery,” forthcoming.

1 1 Charles Alfred Kennedy, “The Whiting Collection of Palestinian Pottery at Yale” (PhD diss., Yale
University, 1961).

12 Ibid., xiif, citing a letter from G. Olaf Matsson, July 6, 1960.

13 Paul V. C. Baur, Catalogue of the Rebecca Darlington Stoddard Collection of Greek and Italian
Vases in Yale University (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1922).

14 Aleksis Rannit, Coptic Art: Exhibition of Coptic Art by the Olsen Foundation, exh. cat. (Guilford:
Olsen Foundation, 1955).

15 Christine Kondoleon, “The City of Antioch: An Introduction,” in Antioch: The Lost Ancient City,
ed. Christine Kondoleon, exh. cat. (Princeton: Princeton University Press and Worcester Art

Museum, 2000), 5-8.

Christine Kondoleon, “Celebrating Pleasure and Wealth: A New Mosaic at the Museum of Fine
Arts, Boston,” in ANAOHMATA EOPTIKA: Studies in Honor of Thomas F. Mathews, ed. Joseph
D. Alchermes (Mainz: Von Zabern, 2009), 216-22.

iiMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMii

Being Roman in the Provinces: Experiences of
Empire and Investigations of Identities

Gail L. Hoffman

The Roman Empire has long fascinated the public and scholars alike. In the nineteenth and
early twentieth centuries when some western European countries engaged in their own
empire-building or even earlier as Europeans fought to claim parts of the New World, Rome
was cited frequently as a model and even as providing justification for these activities of
conquest.1 Aspects of Roman culture (such as Roman law, triumphal arches and amphithe-
aters, or the imperial symbol of the eagle) have been taken up and adapted as expressions
of newly formed political entities eagerly seeking to link themselves with the long lasting
power and success of the Roman Empire.2 Today as many formerly imperial nations join the
European Union, Romes history and experience still interests us for what it reveals about
global economic integration. The Roman Empire, then, has long been studied, analyzed,
and interpreted through a lens of modern political and economic concerns. In the popular
imagination, Rome and its empire has been seen as glorious though it has also been por-
trayed as decadent or even brutal; scholarly focus, however, has tenaciously favored a more
benign view of Romes empire.3 What was the Roman Empire actually like and how do
scholars approach its study today?

Definitions and Descriptions of the Roman Empire

One could define the Roman Empire as “a period in history when a mixture of military pow-
er, political authority, patronage, fiscal control, mercantile activity, cultural and linguistic
hegemony held together a single domain through time and space.”4 Such a definition encour-
ages a descriptive focus on specific aspects of empire and so can yield a static, monolithic
vision of the Roman Empire. Indeed, its size (see further below) and duration (typically
dated from 27 BCE to 476 CE with the fall of the western empire)5 are just two of the many
features which have been found remarkable.6 The trajectory of such a monolith was long ago
described in terms of growth (or rise), decline, and then fall (as in Gibbons famous work).7

Other descriptive characteristics include the ancient terms applied to the Roman
Empire and its leaders. For example, the Latin word imperium designated a special kind of
power to command that could vary over time and place. Virgil (Aen. 1.278-79) famously
gave expression to a divinely sanctioned “ imperium sine fine” with Jupiter prophesying that
Roman power or rule would be without physical or temporal constraints and that this was
a peculiarly Roman right,

Gail L. Hoffman

You, Roman, remember by your empire to rule the worlds peoples, for these
will be your arts, to impose the practice of peace, to be sparing to the sub-
jected, and to beat down the defiant ( Aen . 6.851-53). 8

The reign of Augustus (27 BCE- 14 CE) marks a watershed both for ancient and modern
understanding of the Roman Empire.9 Augustus chose as his title of rule princeps, which
roughly translates as “first citizen.” Other terms were used by or applied to the princeps,
including augustus, caesar (often for a designated heir), and imperator. Through the many
centuries of the empire different titles were used. Diocletian (r. 285-305 CE), the creator of
the tetrarchy (a joint rule of four) who split the empire into eastern and western halves, took
the title dominus or lord. Later, in the eastern Roman Empire, rulers adopted a Greek title,
basileus (a type of king). The eastern emperor Justinian (r. 527-565 CE) reconquered much
of the territory (Rome, Italy, North Africa) once included in the western empire and some
scholars now label the period from about 250 to 750 CE as late antiquity10 (others would call
this early Byzantine). Although the word imperator, then, can be found among the titles for
the ruler of Rome, extending the term imperium to describe the geopolitical entity of Rome
as an empire conflates a form of government with the entity being governed.

Expanse of Empire

The territory of the Roman Empire began to grow well before the time of Augustus. Al-
ready during the republic (509-27 BCE), Rome was expanding, adding Sicily, Sardinia, and
southern Spain during the third century BCE then Greece, Asia Minor, and Gaul (part of
France) by the first century BCE. During the early empire the lands controlled reached their
greatest extent under the emperor Trajan (r. 98-117 CE). Hadrian (r. 117-138 CE) moved
the borders back slightly and marked some of the boundaries more emphatically (i.e., with
construction of his wall in Britain).11 It has been estimated that the Roman Empire was over
3.5 million km2 in expanse and may have contained 50 million inhabitants or more (see
map, p. v).12 (Today a similar area includes 30 to 40 different nation-states.) The Romans
divided their lands into provinciae (provinces), assigning them to various magistrates to
administer. Most provinces included a mosaic of territories each with a different political
status ranging from complete subjection to nominal independence. During the time of Au-
gustus there were about 35 provinces, yet a policy of dividing them into ever smaller units
meant that by about 315 CE there were well over 100 provinces.

The degree of connectivity of this massive political and geographical structure, particu-
larly as far as its economy and communications are concerned remains uncertain13 as does
the meaning for any individual of being a resident or member of this entity.14 Recent study
and reconsideration of the purposes of the walls built on some of the borders (the most
famous of course is Hadrians Wall, but there were also walls of varying length and thickness
in North Africa, Germania, and Dacia) suggest that rather than protecting the territory
inside, they may have served to monitor interactions in zones extending in both directions
from the wall.15 During the second century CE military legions were stationed strategically
throughout the borders zones. The role of the army both as an important driver of the econ-
omy and as a potentially distinctive and separate Roman identity is now being explored (see
especially James and Greene this volume).16 Also being explored is the possibility that the
movement of soldiers long distances around the empire might provide an important avenue
for the transport of objects and so possibly also for the transmission of iconography and
technological expertise.

The provinces were also a key ingredient of the Roman economy, providing necessary
resources for Rome and its armies.17 Most scholars imagine the Roman economy not as
a single integrated one, but rather as a series of interlocking regional exchange systems

Being Roman in the Provinces: Experiences of Empire and Investigations of Identities

in which market trade operated alongside redistributive systems. Thus, one might find
instances of individual gift exchange, elite redistribution, and even barter systems;18 yet one
would also find markets, movement of goods (especially grain, olive oil, wine, fish sauce,
textiles) over long distances, and fairly widespread use of coinage.19 It has been estimated
that the cost of running the empire during the mid- second century CE was approaching
1000 million sestertii.20 In addition to these general costs of empire, according to Pliny,
between 50 and 100 million sestertii were spent annually by Roman elites in order to satisfy
their desire for luxuries imported from outside the empire — mainly China, India, and Ara-
bia.21 Some of these imports included silk, precious gems, ivory, spices, and exotic animals.
Petronius’s Satyricon, especially the section called “Trimalchios Banquet” provides an over-
the-top description of a feast given by a wealthy freedman striving to show that he belongs
to the uppermost stratum of elite Romans and has access to all the benefits of empire.22

Scholarly Study of the Roman Empire (Romanization and Beyond)

Undoubtedly, then, the Roman Empire was impressive and noteworthy in many of the
features described above, yet to understand this empire more fully modern scholars must
move beyond descriptions to deeper analysis and interpretation. This book and the accom-
panying museum exhibitions attempt to do this. In particular they seek to explore how
close study of material culture and its contexts can provide a more nuanced view of what it
meant to be Roman in the provinces during the later empire. Through their use of objects,
people and communities can express varying identities in public, private, and semi-private
contexts. By examining this evidence scholars are trying to move beyond studies focused
especially on the elite to consider how the majority (the other 97%) of people lived in the
Roman communities of antiquity and also to move beyond a focus on Rome to see how life
was experienced on the periphery.

The transition from republic to early empire provides a natural place to start as the rule
of Augustus began a long period of relative peace within the empire (often called the pax
Romana or pax Augusta).23 A Greek inscription with a dedication “for the preservation of
the pax Augusta ” from Gerasa dating to 66-67 CE provides an example of this from the
provinces (plate 6). 24 This was a time when the benefits of empire were imagined as extend-
ing to all.25 And so, scholars, following ideas expressed by Augustus and writers of the early
empire, looked for the benefits of Rome as they were extended from the center to the prov-
inces (or periphery). Previous scholars at first imagined such a process as under the control
of those at the center, that is, as emanating from Rome and its elite toward the provinces.
Ronald Syme observed, “we watch in awe the ripples by which citizenship, membership of
the senate, access to imperial power, and domination of the lucrative Mediterranean-wide
markets spread to Spain, North Africa, the Illyrian provinces and the East.”26 And it has been
observed that, “Augustan ideology and propaganda set models that diffuse spectacularly.”27

Searching for the effects of Rome and its culture on the provinces, scholars envisioned
a process termed Romanization and they sought to describe how imperial Roman culture
was stamped onto the native cultures of the regions that were brought into the empire.28
Such research tended to create a strong dichotomy between Roman and native cultures
(and identities) and generally viewed actions unilaterally, as moving from Rome outward
in a process that was orchestrated and controlled from the center. People in the provinces
(in particular those described as “native” elites) were believed to desire above all to emulate
Rome and so to be accepted fully into the power structures of empire. In studying material
remains, then, scholars focused on architectural forms or artistic styles that were thought
or claimed to be distinctively Roman (for example, triumphal arches [see Cassibry in this
volume], amphitheaters, fora, public baths and aqueducts, the use of architectural brick, or
more abstractly, expressions of imperial cult). Also, because cultural and artistic elements

Gail L. Hoffman

of Rome were generally better known than the local, provincial cultures, it was easier to
study and interpret this material against a standard set from Rome.29 How closely did the
sculptural style of a statue or relief in the provinces match that of works produced and used
in the imperial center?30 Much important work continues along these lines.

Yet, in reality, not everything came from the center out to the provinces and the empire
was also not a static entity, rather it was continually changing.31 Increasingly scholars are
reconsidering and broadening their views of the Roman Empire. Greg Woolf in a recent
book describes a shift in the Roman Empire from a “conquest state” to a “tributary empire”
around the time of Augustus.32 Literary studies are often turning to consideration of later
writers (Statius, Apuleius, Fronto) who experienced and engaged with the empire in differ-
ent ways than the Augustan authors (Horace, Ovid, Virgil). Scholars studying material cul-
ture have noted other shifts; they observe that Roman material culture in its earliest forms
was drawn especially from Italian Iron Age roots, but already by the late republic this mate-
rial culture was becoming Hellenized, drawing ever more widely on Mediterranean sources.
In the early empire, Augustus created a material culture of empire using a “distinctive range
of images and styles.”33 Yet scholars have observed, “it is no longer possible to implicitly
assume that Rome and Italy were the focal points of a pure and undifferentiated ‘Roman
culture.”34 Even in Rome what it meant to be Roman changed significantly over time. In
other words, the center was changed and changing as a result of participation in the empire
and the imperial cultures it helped to create (see Mattingly in this volume).

Also, scholars have noted that local or provincial elites did not passively receive (through
acculturation or assimilation) elements of culture emanating out from a center at Rome,
but rather any process of Romanization would require their active participation and desire
in order to engage with Rome and react to Roman culture.35 In other words, some control
of any process of interaction necessarily existed in the provinces with the provincials them-
selves. In the provinces, too, there was never a static material culture. Indeed, much of what
has been labeled Roman culture in the provinces (for example redware pottery or glass) does
not come from Italy or Rome but rather from elsewhere across the empire. A sense of this
complexity (multi- directionality of exchanges, continuing mutability of forms) appears in
modern studies, including those focusing on the republic and early empire, but this becomes
ever clearer as study moves into the later empire and on into late antiquity (third-sixth cen-
turies CE, a particular focus of the objects found in the color plates of this book).

Dissatisfaction has grown with using Romanization as a primary means of analysis and
so scholars are seeking to look at other facets of the experience of empire.36 One way this
has begun is with studies initiated and centered in the provinces that explore expressions
of local identities in these regions and then ask how these areas and their material culture
may have been affected by inclusion within the Roman Empire.37 This approach introduces
new terms and ideas, such as discrepant experiences and hidden transcripts, creolization,
hybridity, middle ground, bricolage, and resistance.38 These terms seek to describe some of
the experiences of people in the provinces or on the peripheries and so to help in attempts
to explore alternate identities. This approach, however, may risk replacing one kind of
“-ization” with another, a concern since terms of this type (Hellenization, Romanization)
describe both the process and the outcome (hence they may become their own explana-
tions).39 It is hoped, however, that the end result of such studies will be to view the process
of cultural interaction and change as, at the very least, bilateral and maybe even as multi-lat-
eral and multi-directional.40 So it would be acknowledged that cultural interactions moved
in many different ways: from Rome and the empire to the provinces; from the provinces
back to Rome; and indeed all around in the areas of the empire. In addition, those initi-
ating exchanges could be either people within the provinces or people from or in Rome.
Finally, this altered perspective could reveal that the same artifact might be valued, used,
interpreted in several and possibly differing ways. One goal of newer research, then, is to

Being Roman in the Provinces: Experiences of Empire and Investigations of Identities

study and understand these interactions as encompassing a whole spectrum (from Roman
elite, local elite, imperial army, free and freed peoples in the provinces, and slaves) of people
with as wide a variety of responses and reactions (from emulation, to a middle ground or
hybrid response, to a full and complete resistance). In other words, to begin to look at the
material culture from the perspective of local identities rather than to compare it always to
a standard set in Rome.

This, too, can have its challenges and limitations. Care must be taken not merely to
replace Romanization with another monolithic identity or even several identities. If this
were to happen the change might reveal lots of variability in the objects but not necessarily
tell us more about the lives and habits of people in the Roman Empire, especially those on
the periphery.41 Labels of specific identities, then, should not be applied directly to mate-
rial culture without also considering the context and use of an object.42 Used appropri-
ately, however, there could be significant benefits. It might help move thinking and writing
away from a narrow Roman-native dichotomy. It could focus more attention on regional,
sub-ethnic, gender, non-elite aspects of communities and reinforce that culture does not
exist as some pure form of material expression. In addition, such an approach can accom-
modate complex and multi- directional processes and encourage consideration of the conti-
nuity of pre-Roman culture within the many areas added to and removed from the empire.

Material Culture, Identities, and Changing Perspectives

To be most effective, such approaches need to focus on how objects are used. Sometimes the
appearance of single categories of objects (nail clippers, oil lamps, wine vessels) are telling
and sometimes a focus on assemblages is more beneficial. In all cases, their archaeological
contexts become critical.43 Sometimes, however, materials lacking such use contexts can be
brought into discussion through analogies and other forms of comparison; and individual
objects can also tell important stories
through reconstruction of cultural or
social use biographies.44 Taking one
object in the exhibit (plate 178) as a
focus can show how such work might
begin. This painting of a banquet scene
was excavated at Dura-Europos (fig.

2.1), a site on the Euphrates River in
eastern Syria which over its roughly
600-year history (300 BCE-256 CE)
belonged successively to the Hellenis-
tic, Parthian, and Roman worlds be-
fore the Sasanians besieged and sacked
it (see Brody in this volume for Yales
excavations at Dura-Europos). At the
time of its destruction, the site was
home to numerous Roman soldiers
(many from the 20th Palmyrene co-
hort), who in preparation for the siege
buried buildings along the western
part of the site in an earthen embank-
ment designed to strengthen the city
wall. The longterm effect was to im-
prove the archaeological preservation
in this section of the town. Along this

2.i. Plan of Dura-Europos showing excavated areas.

Gail L. Hoffman

2.2. Watercolor reproduction of banquet wall painting (plate 178) from
south wall of House M7-W6 at Dura-Europos.

western wall, for example, an early Christian
House-Church, a Synagogue, and a Mithrae-
um were excavated, all with well-preserved
wall paintings (fig. 2.1).45 The fragment of a
wall painting discussed here (plate 178, fig.
2.2) also benefited from this ancient burial
(though the room which it decorated sat at
the edge of the embankment and so portions
of the paintings are lost).

This painting fragment from the south
wall shows (at the right) a woman seated on
a folding chair. Her face and torso are fron-
tal, while her lower body turns right toward
the men on a banquet couch. She wears a

2.3. Drawing of banquet (left; fig. 2.2 and plate 178) and hunt scene (right; now in the Louvre, AO17310) wall painting from south

wall of M7-W6 at Dura-Europos.

red cloak and veil over a black and white tunic; her right hand reaches toward the banquet
couch, the left hand is in her lap, both hands have forefinger and little finger extended.46
Two four-petaled flowers (one above the other) and a hanging garland appear between
the woman and six partially preserved men. The men rest on cushions placed under their
left elbows while balancing ribbed bowls filled with liquid on the fingertips of their left
hands. In their right hands they may have held an oval pink object (as in a similar banquet
scene from the west wall). The men are bearded (but lack mustaches) and wear tunics and
cloaks with bands at the neck, cuff, forearm, and two vertical stripes on the chest. They also
wear fillets on their heads. Between each figure at the top of the scene hangs a garland and
beneath that a flower with four petals fills the space between each mans head.47 The couch
on which the men recline has sections of vertical lines with scale patterns and alternating
background colors of pink and white. Illusionistic rectangles create a dentil-like pattern as
a border along the bottom of the scene and below this some of the participants names were
painted in Greek.48 Only the names of Addodana and 0[ub]beos remain at the lower left.49
Below the border of this scene (and opposite the doorway into the room) was a painting of
the evil eye. A serpent attacks from the left, a bird (perhaps an ibis) attacks from the right
while a scorpion in between grabs with its claws and raises its tail to strike. At the far left,
a cock only partially preserved also attacks; a sword and two daggers are stuck into the eye
from above.50

There are other portions of preserved paintings from this room. Immediately adjacent
to this painting another section of the scene (now in the Touvre) contained a nude cross-
legged figure of a winged Eros (labeled below the border in Greek); he leans on a down-

Being Roman in the Provinces: Experiences of Empire and Investigations of Identities

turned torch and holds a wreath in his left hand (fig. 2. 3). 51 Further to the right an archer
on horseback (wearing pants and tunic) hunts three onagers, or wild asses (one has been
hit and collapses to the ground). The archers name, painted in Greek and Palmyrene (a
dialect of Aramaic) is Bolazeos. There are two Greek graffiti in front of his horse which
translate, “Addudanes owed Mokkimos 21 [denarii], the term of payment being the month
Daesius” and “May [Ijmedabous be remembered.”52 At the corner with the west wall a fur-
ther painted inscription in Palmyrene reads:

May be remembered and blessed the men who have been painted here,
before Bel and Iarhibol and Aglibol and Arsu; and may be remembered
Elahshamsh, the son of Selat, and T[aim]a, the son of Iah[iba], who have
painted this painting in [the month] Tebe[th] of the year 505 [194 CE].53

On the west wall were two other banquet scenes, one with women and one with men.54 The
details of the banquet scenes are similar to those already described. Participants are labeled
in both Palmyrene and Greek and the painter asks (in Greek) to be remembered.55

The painting discussed here (and the others preserved from the western and southern
walls of House M7-W6) attracted immediate attention in the preliminary reports (as did
other paintings found at Dura-Europos, see plates 77-78 for paintings from the Roman
Bath in Block E3). Many of the paintings were included in subsequent discussions about
Parthian art.56 Over time attention focused especially on the paintings of the Synagogue
(now in Damascus), the Mithraeum, and the Christian House-Church. The origins of the
style of the Dura-Europos paintings puzzled nearly all commentators who observed certain
shared characteristics — frontality; isocephaly; lack of interest in human form or in ren-
dering three-dimensional space; as well as the stiff postures, lack of movement, and an
emotionless quality of many figures. They were often judged against standards of Greek
and Roman art and found lacking57 or claimed as examples of Mesopotamian or Parthian
art.58 James Henry Breasted, one of the first to write about them, saw the Dura paintings as
important links to later stylistic developments; his book was titled Oriental Forerunners of
Byzantine Painting.59

The combination of banquet and hunt subject found in the south wall painting as well
as its location in a building presumed to be a house also caused confusion.60 As Rostovtzeff
asked:

Was the room the banqueting-room of a Palmyrene thiasos (religious asso-
ciation) and did the frieze record outstanding incidents in the life of the de-
ceased and heroized founder of the thiasos ? The figure of a funeral Eros with
a lowered torch. . .so typical a feature of. . .funeral stelae of Roman times. . .
supports this interpretation. Or should we suppose that the house belonged
to Bolazeos and that the paintings represent the funeral banquet held in his
memory. . .such as we find so often in the painted and carved tombs and on
funeral monuments of Asia Minor.61

Rostovtzeff raises many interesting and as yet unresolved questions about the interpretation
of the painting, the room, and the house it decorated. His suggestion of a heroized founder
for a thiasos or a funeral banquet for the house owner Bolazeos both rely on a determina-
tion that the Eros figure with downturned torch located between the hunt and banquet
scenes has a funerary intent and meaning. In addition to early discussion of the paintings,
the texts on the wall (especially the Palymrene ones) also received attention.62 The bilingual
text underscores the strong ties between Palmyra and Dura-Europos as does the dedica-
tion to the Palmyrene gods Bel, Iarhibol, Aglibol, and Arsu. The names of the participants,

Gail L. Hoffman

painters, and the parties to the debt contract (the borrower s name is identical to one of the
banqueters) all suggest local backgrounds.

As a group the wall paintings of Dura-Europos are fascinating. They were discovered
in all the religious buildings (pagan, Christian, and Jewish), in some larger (presumably)
residential structures,63 and also in two of the four baths. The paintings from Dura-Europos
can be dated approximately (often through dedicatory inscriptions in the buildings or on
the paintings themselves) from the second half of the first century CE to about 244/5 CE
(near the final destruction of the site). This chronological range would include parts of the
Parthian and then the Roman occupation of Dura-Europos to 194 CE. The painting from
House M7-W6 dates to 194 CE, which places it during the Roman period of the site. In
some of the dedicatory inscriptions, the artists are named. All of the preserved artist names
are Semitic and may suggest that these wall paintings (as well as other portable paintings
on wood and parchment from the site) were created by local or regional artists working
for local patrons.64 More recently the paintings have been interpreted as part of a hybrid
(or mixed) culture visible at Dura-Europos65 and it has been emphasized that the use and
function of paintings at Dura-Europos was more than purely decorative.

Maura Heyn, who looked at the contexts of the painting of Terentius (fig. 6.2) within
the Temple of the Palmyrene Gods (also called the Temple of Bel), observed that a great
variety of scenes were painted in the temple rooms. The creation of the scenes was dynamic
as paintings were added one by one over nearly 200 years and she noted that the paintings
themselves apparently served as votive offerings. This is not ornamental decoration, then,
with an emphasis on aesthetically pleasing forms or a large coherent decorative program
designed to tell a story. Painting these scenes was itself part of a ritual act and the images
were probably also accompanied by ex votos on shelves. Many of the paintings in the Tem-
ple of the Palmyrene Gods covered or were themselves covered with graffiti (both scratched
inscriptions and drawings).66 This dynamic process of creation as well as a function extend-
ing beyond simple decoration carries over to the house paintings as well. The south wall
scene in House M7-W6 has a painted graffito that records a debt owed by Addudanes to
Mokimos and another to remember [Ijmedabous.67 In other houses at the site, for example,
the House of the Roman Scribes (L7A) or the House of Nebuchelus (B8H), there were astro-
logical charts, calendars, business records, painted ceiling tiles with images of individuals,
animals, and plants, as well as wall paintings of figures like Aphrodite and Eros.68

As scholars have continued to study the materials from Dura-Europos, newer
approaches to its analysis are taking hold. One example is the work of Jennifer Baird who
has reconstructed many of the household assemblages from the site. About House M7-W6
she observes,

Strangely, the unique interest of the paintings from M7W, and particularly
their Palmyrene connection, has never provoked a more thorough study of
the structure. [...] The nature of the finds combined with the paintings and
texts is evocative of more than a house; as is the position of the structure
immediately inside the main gate of the city.69 (italics mine)

Recent archaeological studies of ancient houses have sometimes attempted to write mi-
cro-histories of their use, by analyzing all the objects and their find locations. These efforts
seek to understand better the activities that took place in the architectural spaces.70 Al-
though this sort of analysis was not undertaken at the time of its discovery, the excavators
did keep extensive log books. This legacy data permits some reconstruction of the objects
found within particular rooms and, thus, further consideration of the building’s use.71

House M7W is part of a block of buildings located between the main (Palmyrene) gate
and Bath M7 along a street that continues to one edge of the central market space of the city

Being Roman in the Provinces: Experiences of Empire and Investigations of Identities

(fig. 2.1). This building M7W, also called
the “House of the Banquet,”72 presented a
blank facade to the street (fig. 2.4). (Once
the rampart was built against the city
wall, a staircase ran in the street along
the northern wall of M7W to give access
to the upper parts of the rampart.73) The
house was entered down a narrow cor-
ridor or alleyway which extended to the
courtyard (W4) from which there were
entrances to the other four rooms (W3,

5/7, 6).74 There were stairs in the south-
eastern corner of the courtyard probably
giving access to a flat roof (or perhaps a
second story). One could also enter the
building more directly from the west,
through Room W3 (tentatively identified
as a stable in the excavation reports).75 The
painted room, W6 (located at the southern end of the building), was reached up two low
steps and through an elaborate double-wide central doorway. The door lintel was supported
by jambs with decorative plaster capitals. Inside, low plaster platforms (roughly a meter
wide) were built along the walls (fig. 2.5). Near the western side of the door an oblong basin
preserved with traces of burning served as a brazier for warming the room. The paintings
were excavated from parts of the western and southern walls though they probably origi-
nally covered all four walls.

This basic plan (fig. 2.4) is quite typical of houses at Dura-Europos, which in Bairds
opinion most resemble other Mesopotamian houses (not Greco-Roman houses to which
they are sometimes compared).76 Although their main rooms (like W6) tend to be located
on the south side of the court and sometimes have platforms (indicating they were probably
used for dining and entertaining guests among other household activities), Baird objects to a
label either of andron or diwan for this space; she calls these spaces instead principal rooms.
As Baird observes, to use the word andron (even though some papyri at Dura-Europos do
use this term) might mislead readers into thinking that the house was built in adherence to
a Greco-Roman plan or that this was a special dining room space for use by men. The term
diwan is anachronistic, referring to a private audience room in later Islamic architecture.77

Still, although the plan in
general resembles other houses at
Dura, there are unusual features
of this structure and its associ-
ated finds, including the paint-
ings (of banqueting and hunting
scenes).78 These unusual features
include: entrances directly from
the street (more typically there
is an L- shaped entrance into the
courtyard); recessed amphorae
and other storage vessels found in
the long alleyway and courtyard;
and an unusually high density of
coins from some of the rooms.
Room 3 entered from the street

2.5. View of M7-W6 showing low platform benches during
excavation.

2.4. Plan (block and house detail) of M7W at Dura-Europos (John McCoy
from j. A. Baird, after originals by Van W. Knox and A. H. Detweiler,
Dura-Europos Collection, Yale University Art Gallery).

STREET A

Gail L. Hoffman

at the west, for example, had around 81 coins recorded during its excavation as well as pot-
tery and lamp fragments, animal figurines, a bone weaving tool, bronze toilet instruments, a
fibula, a finger ring, and iron arrowhead (quite a surprising haul for a room described in the
preliminary reports as possibly a stable). Elsewhere in the structure many more coins, figu-
rine fragments, stamped pottery, lamps, glass fragments, S-fibulae and other bronze objects
were excavated. In the main room (W6), in addition to the paintings described above, there
was a gypsum statuette of a goddess seated on a cone (perhaps related to Mesopotamian
cone figures);79 two plaster blocks with molded boys heads in relief are mentioned in the
preliminary reports;80 many coins; parts of clay lamps, vessels, and figurines; and bronze,
bone, and glass objects. There are also many niches built into the walls of the various rooms.

The artifact assemblage, some features of the plan, as well as the paintings and bilingual
inscriptions in the main room may indicate that this structure was not simply a home.
Could this building have served for the meetings of a Palmyrene religious group (as Ros-
tovtzeff proposed)? Could some of the rooms of M7W have been used as a type of commer-
cial establishment (as considered by Baird)? Is it possible that stable space (as suggested in
the preliminary excavation reports) was rented to visitors arriving at the nearby Palymrene
Gate? We may never know for sure; but one path forward in the research and analysis would
be to explore what this structure and its finds might tell us of the identities of those living in
and using it.81 Details rendered in the paintings or objects found in this building provided
opportunities for those living in (or using) this space to display or negotiate various iden-
tities (social, religious, gender, cultural). For example, the elements of the banquet (who
attends, gender, dress, food, postures, gesture, objects);82 the food served and vessels used;
the choice of dress and adornment83 (which would include toileting and grooming prac-
tices84); the languages of the painted inscriptions; and even the presence of numerous coins
all could indicate something about the identities of the people who once lived here or used
these spaces. Such analysis requires posing a different set of questions about the material
remains and also suggests how different approaches to the study of objects and their con-
texts might prove beneficial.

Returning to the south wall painting from M7- W6 (fig. 2.3) , one might begin by question-
ing Rostovtzeff s claim that the Eros figure with downturned torch should be interpreted as
funerary because of its similarity to images on Roman burial stelae. Such an interpretation
belongs to approaches based in ideas of Romanization that analyze and interpret elements
of artistic images primarily through reference to those found at Rome. Yet there is little evi-
dence that Dura-Europos had strong artistic links with that city. Closer (geographically and
chronologically) to the Dura painting, Eros with a downturned torch appears on the reverse
of Roman provincial coins (figs. 2.6a-b) from the reigns of Commodus through Caracalla
and Geta (the sons of Septimius Severus and his Syrian wife Julia Domna).85 Although the
meaning of this image on the coins is also uncertain, it seems unlikely that it was funereal.
Similarly, suggesting the banquet scene in M7-W6 might be a funeral feast because of the
presence of the Eros and by comparison to dining scenes in the funerary art of Asia Minor
privileges interpretation of the painting through a Greco-Roman lens.

A closer place to look for comparative material would be at Dura-Europos itself and
perhaps its near neighbor Palmyra (as suggested by the inscriptions in Palmyrene). Indeed,
banqueting and hunting scenes appear frequently in other buildings at Dura (for exam-
ple, the Mithraeum contained both types of scenes). Banqueting appears often as part of
religious scenes from the site, while paintings of the hunt are also found at Dura in the
Temple of Azzanathkona,86 in the House of the Frescoes (C7F),87 and are frequent also
in graffiti.88 At Palmyra, banquet scenes are also common particularly in relief sculpture
placed in tombs (plate 181); yet these scenes are not interpreted in that context as funer-
ary banquets, but rather as images of Palmyrene religious banquets. This Palmyrene relief
sculpture of a male banqueter shows a very similar posture and gesture to the figures in the

Being Roman in the Provinces: Experiences of Empire and Investigations of Identities

Dura-Europos painting (reclining with
his left elbow on a cushion and balanc-
ing a bowl on his fingertips, his right
hand holds an object) (figs. 2.2-3).89 In
the Palmyrene relief, however, the man
wears a different garment, a short tunic
with long sleeves and loose pants while
in the Dura painting the reclining men
all wear long tunics and cloaks.90 Recent
study of the Palmyrene sculpted reliefs
has commented on both the banquet
subject (suggesting it identifies the por-
trayed individual as a priest or ritual host
for religious banquets) and on the cloth-
ing and gestures of the figures.91 These would be interesting avenues to pursue for future
research on the Dura painting.

Indeed recent work on clothing and attire has begun to explore its significant relation-
ship to expressions of social and cultural identity.92 Dress, which has been likened to a
non-verbal language, provides an excellent medium in which to observe cultural identity
and possible changes to it. On the one hand dress choices are both public and personal
permitting an individual to use clothing in reaction to surrounding social and cultural pro-
cesses. Dress can be used to express complex and multiple identities (e.g., gender, class,
age) and yet it can “also reflect a combination of cultural allegiances in the same person
when garments are mixed.”93 These qualities as well as the performance aspect of wearing
clothing make it an ideal source of information about hybrid identities, yet (as Ursula Rothe
observes) “in terms of pursuing cultural identity in the Roman provinces, dress is as yet an
underused resource.”94

The garments worn by people in the Dura-Europos wall paintings as a whole include
a variety from a long loose tunic and cloak (frequent in the Synagogue paintings, images
painted in the pagan temples, and the reclining banqueters here in M7-W6) to pants and
short tunic with set-in sleeves (garments found in the Mithraeum and Synagogue paintings,
and the archer in the hunt scene from M7-W6) to a military tunic and cuirass (for example
on the Palmyrene gods represented in the painting of Terentius, fig. 6.2). Although dress
can provide a means for expressing cultural identities, no consensus yet exists on its signif-
icance in the art of Dura-Europos.95

Finally, in building M7W, 153 coins were listed in the inventories from Rooms W3-7
(the main rooms of this structure). Sadly the specific coins found in these rooms can no
longer be identified. This information was not kept or published with the coins which were
analyzed using the standard methods and procedures of the time. Yet coins and their anal-
ysis provide another interesting example of how a change in perspective might expand our
understanding and interpretation of material culture and its potential uses in the prov-
inces.96 Of all objects, coins perhaps seem most closely linked to Rome and its empire.
Fergus Millar describes coins as “the most deliberate of all symbols of public identity” and
“the most explicit symbols of a city’s identity and status.”97 It has long been suggested that
“people learnt about their emperor — who he was, what he looked like, the attributes of his
power — through his portrait on coins which circulated on all social levels throughout the
empire.”98 In addition, coins have traditionally been studied through the lens of Rome, for
what they tell us about the Roman economy and its effects in the provinces. Indeed, mone-
tization is sometimes viewed as part of Romanization." But what other stories might coins
be able to tell?

2.6a-b. Reverses of copper coins depicting Eros with downturned torch,
early 3rd century CE. Yale University Art Gallery, 3:2004.6.444, Ruth
Elizabeth White Fund; b: 2005.6.131, Gift of James H. Schwartz.

Gail L. Hoffman

A long-term project is underway through the auspices of the British Museum to cata-
logue coins from the Roman provinces.100 This provides a crucial beginning (indeed, the
fact that imperial coinage has been catalogued first reminds us of the tendency to focus on
the imperial center). In this volume Metcalf s essay explores some of the essential informa-
tion about such provincial coin production (authority, circulation, motives for striking). By
looking further at the use of coins within the provinces, other topics might also be explored:
what language(s) were used in a region (is there evidence of bilingualism);101 what evidence
is there about local cults and monuments; is there evidence for competition and interaction
among areas on the periphery? Even these questions, however, emphasize analysis of coins
from the perspective of Rome and its reasons for coin production.

Joris Aarts has proposed that Roman coins (of all forms imperial as well as provincial)
should be studied in a much broader way by including their possible functions in social or
ritual exchange.102 In other words, coins are not solely indicators of monetization and the
spread of a Roman economy or perhaps military. Examining coin use among the Batavians
(a people living in the Rhine delta at the edge of the empire), Aarts has shown that the coins
reaching this area were placed into hoards, were offered in ritual contexts, and might also
have been used in market exchange. Indeed, coins “were being used by the same people
[local Batavians] but for different purposes in different contexts.”103 (For a similar observa-
tion about differing uses of Roman pottery in fifth-century Britain, see Flemings essay in
this volume.) The people living in this area knew how to use coins in market exchanges yet
they also used them for other purposes (to store as valuables and to make votive offerings).
Aarts observes that any difference between Roman and native was non-existent and pro-
poses that “the life of Roman coins can better be described in terms of a social history of a
class of object as suggested by Appadurai.” Further he emphasizes that “when talking about
the function and use of Roman coins, we should look at their role in the whole system of
exchange.”104

Returning to Room M7-W6, then, we might wonder about the significance of the many
coins discovered there. On the one hand they might suggest commercial or business trans-
actions or perhaps the presence of Roman soldiers, but can we rule out the possibility that
these coins were used like tesserae at Palmyra for ritual banquets? Similarly the image of
the Eros with downturned torch at first linked to Roman funerary imagery might instead
reference an image found on the reverse of provincial coinage. Similarly looking at textiles
and dress in the images and through preserved objects at Dura-Europos or broader consid-
eration of the significances of banqueting and the hunt for the residents of Dura-Europos
might provide a fuller understanding of how these people were negotiating various identi-
ties, including perhaps, “being Roman” on the periphery of the empire.

Conclusion

“‘Being Roman was not a standard process or recipe”;105 neither was choosing not to be Ro-
man. Rather these choices and expressions of identities varied over time, within provinces
from place to place and among different groups (e.g., the military, traders and shopkeepers,
everyday residents, religious leaders, wealthy administrative personnel, etc.), and across the
expanse of the empire. Because what we label Roman culture (itself a problematic term —
do we mean any material culture created and used within the borders of the empire?) was
dynamic, flexible, geographically widespread, and attainable by different groups of people;
it existed on a different level than regional identities and in fact could coexist with them.
As a result the empire possessed various mixed or hybrid cultures. Experiences of empire
were likely both positive and negative. The responses people had to their conquerors and
to the conqueror s language, religion, and material culture no doubt varied widely and so
then did what these people brought into the empire. One important step in understanding

Being Roman in the Provinces: Experiences of Empire and Investigations of Identities

this process is to better characterize and understand the local responses and identities in the
provinces themselves.106 It may then be possible to ask other questions about the impacts
of the peripheries or provinces on the center, Rome itself. How did the conquest of empire
affect and change its material culture? Studies that examine provincial art and material cul-
ture more broadly then and so seek to explore and understand the large variety of reactions
to empire are just starting to reveal the myriad of ways in which people negotiated and
performed the many identities in the Roman provinces.

Gail L. Hoffman

1 Richard Hingley, ed., Images of Rome: Perceptions of Ancient Rome in Europe and the United
States in the Modern Age (Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2001). For an exception
to this see Sabine MacCormack, On the Wings of Time: Rome, the Incas, Spain, and Peru (Princ-
eton: Princeton University Press, 2007) which examines a writer (De las Casas) condemning at
the time the Spanish conquest of South America.

2 Imperial eagles were consistently used as symbols of power. Yet the types of groups using this
image varied dramatically from the American Founders to Napoleon as well as the Nazis in Ger-
many and fascists in Italy.

3 On the dichotomy between public and scholarly views of empire, see David J. Mattingly, Impe-
rialism, Power, and Identity: Experiencing the Roman Empire (Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 2011), 3-5.

4 John C. Barrett, “Romanization: A Critical Comment,” in Dialogues in Roman Imperialism: Pow-
er, Discourse and Discrepant Experience in the Roman Empire, ed. David J. Mattingly (Ports-
mouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 1997), 51-64, esp. 52. For other definitions and further
references, Mattingly, Imperialism, Power, and Identity, 6; Greg Woolf, Rome: An Empire’s Story
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), xiii-ix.

5 Some date the “classical” empire from 27 BCE to 476 CE, while others consider the end of the
Roman Empire to be 1453 CE when Constantinople (and so the eastern empire) fell to the Otto-
mans. For others, the period from 330 CE to 1453 CE is termed the Byzantine Empire (though
its own rulers and people called it Roman). More recently, some scholars have labeled the period
250 to 750 CE “late antiquity.” These choices of dates and designations, of course, signal interpre-
tive biases and can lead to separation and division of materials into scholarly silos.

6 The Romans themselves counted from the traditional foundation date of Rome in 753 BCE and
so celebrated a 900th anniversary in the year 147 CE and a millennium in 247 CE.

7 Edward Gibbon, The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, 12 vols. (London: J.
Murray, 1776-89).

8 Mattingly, Imperialism, Power, and Identity, 17.

9 David J. Mattingly, “Vulgar and Weak ‘Romanization,’ or Time for a Paradigm Shift?,” review of
Italy and the West: Comparative Issues in Romanization, ed. Simon Keay and Nicola Terrenato,
Journal of Roman Archaeology 15 (2002): 536-40, esp. 538; Paul Zanker, The Power of Images
in the Age of Augustus, trans. Alan Shapiro (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1990);
Andrew Wallace-Hadrill, “Rome’s Cultural Revolution,” Journal of Roman Studies 79 (1989):
157-64; Thomas Habinek and Alessandro Schiesaro, eds., The Roman Cultural Revolution (Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997); Greg Woolf, Becoming Roman: The Origins of Provin-
cial Civilization in Gaul (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 174-75.

10 Peter Brown, The World of Late Antiquity: AD 150-750 (New York: W. W. Norton, 1971) is cred-
ited with beginning this process.

1 1 Thorsten Opper, Hadrian: Empire and Conflict, exh. cat. (Cambridge: Harvard University Press,
2008) for a recent museum exhibition on this emperor. Hadrian traveled through this vast ter-
ritory visiting many of its regions, issuing sestertius coins in honor of different provinces and
creating sculptural images of various provinces. See ibid., 20, fig. 4 for a map; Helmut Halfmann,
Itinera Principum: Geschichte und Typologie der Kaiserreisen im Romischen Reich (Stuttgart:
Steiner, 1986). He and his troops spent the winter of 129/30 CE in Gerasa where an arch was
built to celebrate his visit. Carl H. Kraeling, Gerasa: City of the Decapods (New Haven: American

Being Roman in the Provinces: Experiences of Empire and Investigations of Identities

Schools of Oriental Research, 1938), 49-52, 73-83, inscr. 58.

12 Population estimates are notoriously difficult and in the ancient world vary widely David J. Mat-
tingly, “The Imperial Economy,” in A Companion to the Roman Empire, ed. David Potter (Oxford:
Blackwell, 2006), 283-97, esp. 285 for these numbers.

13 Peregrine Horden and Nicholas Purcell, The Corrupting Sea: A Study of Mediterranean History
(Oxford: Blackwell, 2000); Mattingly, “Imperial Economy,” 285.

14 C. R. Whittaker, “Mental Maps and Frontiers: Seeing Like a Roman,” in Rome and Its Frontiers:
The Dynamics of Empire (London: Routledge, 2004), 63-87. Whereas in the early years of the
empire Roman citizenship conferred significant benefits to a select minority, after the Constitutio
Antoniniana in 212 CE this privilege was extended to all freeborn men within the empire.

15 For the lively scholarly discussion about borders and frontiers, see among others: Rob Collins
and Matthew Symonds, eds., Breaking Down Boundaries: Hadrians Wall in the 21st Century
(Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2013); Peter S. Wells, ed., Rome beyond Its Fron-
tiers: Imports, Attitudes and Practices (Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2013); Jan
W. Drijvers, “Limits of Empire in Ammianus Marcellinus’ Res Gestae’,’ in Frontiers in the Roman
World: Proceedings of the 9th Workshop of the International Network Impact of Empire (Durham,
16-19 April 2009), ed. Olivier Hekster and Ted Kaizer (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 13-29, esp. 17, 26;
John Richardson, “ Fines provinciae’,’ in Frontiers in the Roman World, 1-10; and Whittaker,
Rome and Its Frontiers. Some recent maps rather than using a solid line for the border create a
border zone by overlaying two color patterns.

16 Mattingly, Imperialism, Power, and Identity, 221: “use of material culture within the army,
which... developed a separate version of ‘Roman’ identity”; Simon James, “The Community of
the Soldiers: A Major Identity and Centre of Power in the Roman Empire,” in TRAC 98: Pro-
ceedings of the 8th Annual Theoretical Archaeology Conference, Leicester 1998, ed. Patricia Baker
et al. (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 1999), 14-25; Simon James, “Soldiers and Civilians: Identity and
Interaction in Roman Britain,” in Britons and Romans: Advancing an Archaeological Agenda, ed.
Simon James and Martin Millett (York: Council for British Archaeology, 2001), 77-89.

17 C. R. Whittaker, Frontiers of the Roman Empire: A Social and Economic Study (Baltimore: Johns
Hopkins University Press, 1994), 98-130.

18 As with frontiers, a lively discussion exists about the nature of the Roman economy. The two
poles of discussion are how relatively modern (Michael Rostovtzeff, Social and Economic History
of the Roman Empire [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1957]) or how primitive (Moses Finely,
The Ancient Economy [London: Hogarth Press, 1985]) it was. For more recent views in between
the poles: Mattingly, “Imperial Economy,” 283-97; William V. Harris, “Trade,” in The Cambridge
Ancient History 1 1 : The High Empire, AD 70-192, ed. Alan K. Bowman, Peter Garnsey, and Dom-
inic Rathbone (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 710-40; J. G. Manning and Ian
Morris, eds., The Ancient Economy: Evidence and Models (Stanford: Stanford University Press,
2005). On the changing economy of the later empire: L. de Blois and J. Rich, eds., The Transfor-
mation of Economic Life under the Roman Empire (Amsterdam: J. C. Gieben, 2002); Peter Garn-
sey and C. R. Whittaker, “Trade, Industry, and the Urban Economy,” in The Cambridge Ancient
History 13: The Late Empire, AD 337-425, ed. Averil Cameron and Peter Garnsey (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1998), 312-37.

19 Christopher Howgego, “The Supply and Use of Money in the Roman World 200 BC to AD 300,”
Journal of Roman Studies 82 (1992): 1-31; David J. Mattingly and John Salmon, eds., Economies

Gail L. Hoffman

beyond Agriculture in the Classical World (London: Routledge, 2001).

20 Mattingly, “Imperial Economy,” 287 gives between 832 and 983 million and cites Richard Dun-
can-Jones, Structure and Scale in the Roman Economy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1990), 187-210; Mattingly, Imperialism, Power, and Identity, 132-33; David J. Mattingly, “Sup-
plying Rome and the Empire: Some Conclusions,” in Supplying Rome and the Empire, ed. Eman-
uele Papi (Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2007), 219-27. Any modern comparison
is difficult; a sestertius could buy two loaves of bread.

21 Pliny, HN 6.101; 12.84; Mattingly, “Imperial Economy,” 287. See also, Andrew Dalby, Empire of
the Pleasures: Luxury and Indulgence in the Roman World (London: Routledge, 2000).

22 Jas Eisner, Imperial Rome and Christian Triumph (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), 48-
50.

23 An idea developed by Gibbon, it refers to the roughly two centuries of relative calm/peace in the
empire from 27 BCE to about CE 180.

24 Kraeling, Gerasa: City of the Decapolis, 396, no. 46. The inscription translates: “To Good For-
tune. In the year 129. For the preservation of the Pax Augusta, under the chief magistracy of
the president, Apollonius, son of ‘Hephaition,’ and Malchaios, the dekaprotos of the city, son of
Demetrius and Antiochus, one of the magistrates, son of Ariston, and Xerxes, secretary of the
senate and the popular assembly, son of Chaireas, this wall was set up at the city’s expense by the
curators Meliton, also called Nicanor, son of Apollonides, and Timarchus, son of Lysimachus”
(R. Boecklin and J. P. Hyatt, “A New Inscription of Jerash,” American Journal of Archaeology 38,
no. 4 [1934]: 511-22, esp. 512).

25 During his reign Augustus closed the gates of the Temple of Janus three times, a signal of peace
throughout the empire, while monuments, most importantly the Ara Pacis, gave visible expres-
sion to his ideas about the Roman state. See Zanker, Power of Images for a discussion of Augus-
tus’s use of monuments and images to promote a particular ideology about the empire.

26 Quoted from Andrew Wallace-Hadrill, “The Creation and Expression of Identity: The Roman
World,” in Classical Archaeology, ed. Susan Alcock and Robin Osborne (Malden: Blackwell,
2007), 355-80, esp. 372; Ronald Syme, Tacitus (Oxford: Clarendon, 1958).

27 Wallace-Hadrill, “Expression of Identity,” 372 referencing Zanker, Power of Images. On signifi-
cant shifts in coinage at this time, Christopher Howgego, “Coinage and Identity in the Roman
Provinces,” in Coinage and Identity in the Roman Provinces, ed. Christopher Howgego, Volker
Heuchert, and Andrew Burnett (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 1-17, esp. 13.

28 Some recent discussion of this issue: Simon Keay and Nicola Terrenato, eds., Italy and the West:
Comparative Issues in Romanization (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2000); Elizabeth Fentress, ed., Ro-
manization and the City: Creation, Transformations, and Failures (Portsmouth: Journal of Roman
Archaeology, 2000). The usefulness of Romanization for understanding the Roman Empire is
hotly contested. For reviews of this, Jane Webster, “Creolizing the Roman Provinces,” American
Journal of Archaeology 105, no. 2 (2001): 209-25, esp. 210-17; Louise Revell, Roman Imperialism
and Local Identities (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), x; Mattingly, Imperialism,
Power, and Identity, 38-41.

29 Similar approaches and emphases are found also in museum exhibitions, e.g., Opper, Hadrian:
Empire and Conflict.

30 For a succinct summary of the study of Roman provincial archaeology from the nineteenth cen-

Being Roman in the Provinces: Experiences of Empire and Investigations of Identities

tury onward, see Revell, Roman Imperialism, 5-10. Natalie Boymel Kampen reviews this trend
from an art historical perspective, “On Writing Histories of Roman Art,” Art Bulletin 85 (2003):
371-86. She reminds us that what was termed “native” art always looked stylistically like the art
of late antiquity, 376.

31 A point argued consistently by Mattingly, “Dialogues of Power,” 9; Imperialism, Power, and Iden-
tity, 6-8.

32 Woolf, Rome: An Empire’s Story.

33 “In evaluating cultural change in Italy after its conquest by Rome, we must recognize that the
identities that emerged were in a constant state of flux. [...] For a variety of reasons, there are
phases in Roman history when profound redefinition of what it meant to be Roman (or what the
empire was about) created cultural pulses that emanated out from the capital. The ripple effects
could extend beyond imperial territory. [...] One might think of these large scale cultural shifts
as ‘global trends’” (Mattingly, “Vulgar and Weak ‘Romanization,’” 539).

34 Simon Keay, “Part 2: The Provinces, Introduction,” in Italy and the West, 113-16, esp. 113.

35 Particularly noted for this approach is Martin Millett, “Romanization: Historical Issues and Ar-
chaeological Interpretation,” in The Early Roman Empire in the West, ed. Thomas Blagg and Mar-
tin Millett (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 1990), 35-41; and Millet, The Romanization of Britain: An
Essay in Archaeological Interpretation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990).

36 Woolf, Becoming Roman, 5-7; Mattingly, “Vulgar and Weak ‘Romanization,’” 537-38; David J.
Mattingly, “Being Roman: Expressing Identity in a Provincial Setting,” Journal of Roman Archae-
ology 17 (2004): 5-25, esp. 5-7; Mattingly, An Imperial Possession: Britain in the Roman Empire,
54 BC-AD 409 (London: Penguin, 2007), xii, 14-17; Mattingly, Imperialism, Power, and Identity,
38-41, 271; Revell, Roman Imperialism, 6-10.

37 For an example, Mattingly, “Being Roman” (among other works); Revell, Roman Imperialism-,
Tim Whitmarsh, ed., Local Knowledge and Microidentities in the Imperial Greek World (Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010); Susan E. Alcock, Graecia Capta: The Landscapes of
Roman Greece (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993).

38 Mattingly, Dialogues in Roman Imperialism (discrepant experience and hidden transcripts);
Webster, “Creolizing the Roman Provinces,” 209-25; Mattingly, “Vulgar and Weak ‘Romaniza-
tion,”’ 538; Nicola Terrenato, “The Romanization of Italy: Global Acculturation or Cultural Brico-
lageV,’ in TRAC 97: Proceedings of the 7th Annual Theoretical Roman Archaeology Conference, Not-
tingham 1997, ed. Colin Forcey, John Hawthorne, and Robert Witcher (Oxford: Oxbow Books,
1998), 20-27.

39 Mattingly, Imperialism, Power, and Identity, 207.

40 Mattingly, “Dialogues of Power,” 9, who cites Jane Webster, “Roman Imperialism and the
‘Post-Imperial Age,”’ in Roman Imperialism: Post-Colonial Perspectives, ed. Jane Webster and
Nick Cooper (Leicester: School of Archaeological Studies, University of Leicester, 1996), 1-17,
esp. 11.

41 Ursula Rothe, “Dress and Cultural Identity in the Roman Empire,” in Dress and Identity, ed.
Mary Harlow (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2012), 59-68, esp. 59.

42 As argued by Martin Pitts, “The Emperor’s New Clothes? The Utility of Identity in Roman Ar-
chaeology,” American Journal of Archaeology 111, no. 4 (2007): 693-713.

43 Mattingly, Imperialism, Power, and Identity, 235.

Gail L. Hoffman

44 Jody Joy, “Reinvigorating Object Biography: Reproducing the Drama of Object Lives,” World Ar-
chaeology 41, no. 4 (2009): 540-56; Chris Gosden and Yvonne Marshall, “The Cultural Biography
of Objects,” World Archaeology 31, no. 2 (1999): 169-78; Igor Kopytoff, “The Cultural Biography
of Things: Commoditization as Process,” in The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural
Perspective, ed. Arjun Appadurai (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 64-94.

45 For discussion and bibliography see Lisa R. Brody and Gail L. Hoffman, eds., Dura-Europos:
Crossroads of Antiquity, exh. cat. (Chestnut Hill: McMullen Museum of Art, Boston College,
2011).

46 Michael Rostovtzeff et al., eds., The Excavations at Dura-Europos: Preliminary Report of the 6th
Season of Work, 1932-1933 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1936), 154-55 for a detailed de-
scription.

47 This four-petaled flower appears in other paintings from Dura-Europos, most noticeably be-
tween the two Tychai in the painting of Terentius dating to 239 CE from the Temple of Bel or
the Palmyrene Gods (fig. 6.2), but also on painted ceiling tiles, on the camel rider relief, and
on preserved textiles (YUAG 1933.276, 1935.44, 1933.487). Perhaps in this painting it indicates
tapestries or textiles hanging from the wall?

48 This border is best preserved in photographs of the hunt side of the painting now in the Louvre,
AO 173 10, http://cartelfr.louvre.fr/cartelfr/visite?srv=car_not_frame8ddNotice=21170.

49 Rostovtzeff et al., Preliminary Report 6, 172.

50 Ibid., 155 for a description. For an image, J. A. Baird, “Housing and Households at Dura-Euro-
pos: A Study in Identity on Rome’s Eastern Frontier” (PhD diss., University of Leicester, 2006),
fig. 380.

51 For discussion of the Eros figure and its possible funerary connections L. Kahil et al., eds., Lex-
ikon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae (LIMC) 3 (Zurich: Artemis, 1986), 1:939; Rostovtzeff
et al., Preliminary Report 6, 153-54.

52 Lucinda Dirven, The Palmyrenes of Dura-Europos (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 285-86. Infra note 88 for
references to graffiti at Dura-Europos.

53 Ibid., 282; Rostovtzeff et al., Preliminary Report 6, 151, 167-69.

54 Rostovtzeff et al., Preliminary Report 6, 147-51. For images, YUAG 1938.5999.1 144 and 1 148.

55 Ibid., 169-72.

56 Ann Perkins, The Art of Dura-Europos (Oxford: Clarendon, 1973), 65-68; Rostovtzeff et al., Pre-
liminary Report 6, 146-167; Rostovtzeff, “Dura and the Problem of Parthian Art,” Yale Classical
Studies 5 (1935): 155-304, esp. 273-79; J. B. Ward-Perkins, “The Roman West and the Parthian
East,” Proceedings of the British Academy (1965): 175-99, esp. 187n2.

57 Perkins, Art of Dura-Europos, 33. “As is to be expected in a garrison town located on a frontier,
the paintings show both an eclecticism of subject and style, and a provincialism manifested in
the generally mediocre level of execution.”

58 Michael Rostovtzeff, Dura-Europos and Its Art (Oxford: Clarendon, 1938), 95; Rostovtzeff et al.,
Preliminary Report 6, 166-67.

59 James Henry Breasted, Oriental Forerunners of Byzantine Painting: First-Century Wall Paintings
from the Fortress of Dura on the Middle Euphrates (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1924).

60 Perkins, Art of Dura-Europos, 66-67.

Being Roman in the Provinces: Experiences of Empire and Investigations of Identities

61 Rostovtzeff, Dura-Europos and Its Art, 94; Rostovtzeff et al., Preliminary Report 6, 158-59 (pos-
sible funerary banquet).

62 Dirven, Palmyrenes of Dura-Europos, 281-93.

63 J. A. Baird, “The Houses of Dura-Europos: Archaeology, Archive, and Assemblage,” in Cross-
roads of Antiquity, 241 discussing the House of the Frescoes.

64 A wooden panel forming the door of a shrine carried a painted winged Nike (YUAG 1929.288).

There were also preserved five painted oval wooden shields (YUAG 1935.551 with Iliad scenes;

YUAG 1935.552 an amazonomachy; YUAG 1935.553 an image of a military god; and YUAG
1938.5999.1120 and YUAG 1938.5999.1123) and the rectangular scutum (YUAG 1933.715).

65 Baird, “Houses of Dura-Europos,” 235-50, esp. 241.

66 Maura K. Heyn, “The Terentius Frieze in Context,” in Crossroads of Antiquity, 228 referencing
Annabel Jane Wharton, Refiguring the Post Classical City: Dura Europos, Jerash, Jerusalem and
Ravenna (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 61, “The frescoes of the naos are not
ornamental as in the triclinium of a Roman house, but active.”

67 Dirven, Palmyrenes of Dura-Europos, 286.

68 Paul Baur, Michael Rostovtzeff, and Alfred Bellinger, eds., The Excavations at Dura-Europos:

Preliminary Report of the 4th Season of Work, 1930-1931 (New Haven: Yale University Press,

1933), 39, 79-145, 222; Michael Rostovtzeff, ed., The Excavations at Dura-Europos: Preliminary
Report of the 5th Season of Work, 1931-1932 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1934), 47-49,

90-97; Kai Ruffing, “Die Geschafte des Aurelios Nebuchelos,” Laverna 1 1 (2000): 71-105 (House
of Nebuchelus); Rostovtzeff et al., Preliminary Report 6, 265-308 (House of the Roman Scribes).

69 Baird, “Housing and Households,” 83.

70 Baird, “Housing and Households” reconstructs these assemblages for many of the houses at Du-
ra-Europos. On the Dura-Europos houses in general, see also, Baird “Houses of Dura-Europos”;

J. A. Baird, The Inner Lives of Ancient Houses: An Archaeology of Dura-Europos (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2014); and Anny Allara and Catherine Saliou, “Constitution d’un repertoire de
Farchitecture domestique a Doura- Europos,” in Doura-Europos Etudes 4, 1991-1993, ed. Pierre
Leriche and Mathilde Gelin (Beirut: Bibliotheque archeologique et historique, 1997), 145-54.

For a recent example of a micro-history for two ancient Egyptian houses (one elite, the other
non-elite) see Anna L. Boozer, “Housing Empire: The Archaeology of Daily Life in Roman Am-
heida, Egypt”(PhD diss., Columbia University, 2007).

71 See Baird, “Housing and Households” and Inner Lives of Ancient Houses with references for
much of this work.

72 Rostovtzeff et al., Preliminary Report 6, 140-72; Baird, “Housing and Households,” 483-89;

Baird, Inner Lives of Ancient Houses.

73 Rostovtzeff et al., Preliminary Report 6, 142.

74 There are some problems reconciling the room numbers on the published plans with the room
numbers for finds listed in the register. Rooms Wl, 2, 10, 1 1 appear in the register but not on the
final plans (Baird, “Housing and Households,” 472).

75 Rostovtzeff et al., Preliminary Report 6, 141.

76 Baird, “Houses of Dura-Europos,” 238.

77 Ibid., 239, 239n25; J. A. Baird, “The Bizarre Bazaar: Early Excavations in the Roman East and

Gail L. Hoffman

Problems of Nomenclature,” in TRAC 2006: Proceedings of the 16th Annual Theoretical Roman
Archaeology Conference, Cambridge 2006, ed. Ben Croxford et al. (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2007),
34-42, esp. 37.

78 Baird, “Housing and Households,” 483.

79 Susan B. Downey, Excavations at Dura-Europos 1928-1937: Final Report 3, Part 1, Fasc. 2; The
Stone and Plaster Sculpture (Los Angeles: University of California, 1977), no. 90; F322; Ros-
tovtzeff et al., Preliminary Report 6, 144-45, plate 27.2.

80 Rostovtzeff et al., Preliminary Report 6, 144; Baird, “Housing and Households,” 485 says painted
ceiling tiles. Artstor Digital Library image dura-fc35~01 shows a carved relief head during exca-
vation.

8 1 Baird, Inner Lives of Ancient Houses.

82 Nicholas F. Hudson, “Changing Places: The Archaeology of the Roman Convivium’,’ American
Journal of Archaeology 114, no. 4 (2010): 663-95; Katherine M. D. Dunbabin, The Roman Ban-
quet: Images of Conviviality (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003).

83 Wallace-Hadrill, “Expression of Identity,” 356 observes, “Clothes are the material correlate to
language, an expression of identity that depends on choice: you speak Latin or Greek, you wear
the toga or the pallium.”

84 Nina Crummy and Hella Eckardt, “Regional Identities and Technologies of the Self: Nail-Clean-
ers in Roman Britain,” Archaeological Journal 160 (2003): 44-69; Crummy and Eckardt, Styl-
ing the Body in Late Iron Age and Roman Britain: A Contextual Approach to Toilet Instruments
(Montagnac: Editions Monique Mergoil, 2008); Eckardt, “Heating and Lighting,” in Artefacts in
Roman Britain: Their Purpose and Use, ed. Lindsay Allason- Jones (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press, 2011), 180-93.

85 LIMC 3, 1:931, nos. 986-87. A similar image (identified as Amor, Cupid) appears on a gem in
Hamburg, LIMC 3, 1:977, no. 170 and on a Roman sarcophagus in the Sirmium museum, LIMC
3, 1:690, no. 169.

86 Ward-Perkins, “The Roman West,” 186n2 and Rostovtzeff, Preliminary Report 5, 157 plate 35,
3-4.

87 Baird, “Housing and Households”; Inner Lives of Ancient Houses.

88 Bernard Goldman, “Foreigners at Dura-Europos: Pictorial Graffiti and History,” Le Museon 103
(1990): 5-25; also J. A. Baird, “The Graffiti of Dura-Europos: A Contextual Approach,” in Ancient
Graffiti in Context, ed. J. A. Baird and Claire Taylor (New York: Routledge, 2011), 49-68.

89 Rostovtzeff et al., Preliminary Report 6, 147 observed this as a common posture for banqueting
figures on Palmyrene tesserae.

90 An interesting study of a Roman gravestone for a British woman at Arbeia (South Shields in
England, fig. 3.2) shows how analyses of garments may be significant, Maureen Carroll, “‘The
Insignia of Women’: Dress, Gender and Identity on the Roman Funerary Monument of Regina
from Arbeia Archaeological Journal 169 (2012): 281-311.

91 Maura K. Heyn, “Sacerdotal Activities and Parthian Dress in Roman Palmyra,” in Reading a
Dynamic Canvas: Adornment in the Ancient Mediterranean World, ed. Cynthia S. Colburn and
Maura K. Heyn (Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars, 2008), 181; Heyn, “Gesture and Identity in
the Funerary Art of Palmyra,” American Journal of Archaeology 114, no. 4 (2010): 631-61 has

Being Roman in the Provinces: Experiences of Empire and Investigations of Identities

explored the significance of gesture in funerary sculpture at Palmyra.

92 Rothe, “Dress and Cultural Identity,” 59-68; Liza Cleland, Mary Harlow, and Lloyd Llewel-
lyn-Jones, eds., The Clothed Body in the Ancient World (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2005); Jonathan
Edmondson and Alison Keith, eds., Roman Dress and the Fabrics of Roman Culture (Toronto:
University of Toronto Press, 2008); Kelly Olson, Dress and the Roman Woman: Self-Presentation
and Society (New York: Routledge, 2008).

93 Rothe, “Dress and Cultural Identity,” 61.

94 Ibid., 60.

95 Efforts to link these forms of dress to particular groups of people, special identities, or to dress
for specific activities in the scenes have not yet proven successful. For some of this discussion:
Rostovtzeff et al., Preliminary Report 6, 161; J. A. Baird, “Everyday Life in Roman Dura-Euro-
pos: The Evidence of Dress Practices,” in Religion, Society and Culture at Dura-Europos, ed. Ted
Kaizer (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, forthcoming) where she notes that dress in art
may be different than dress in day-to-day practice; Bernard Goldman, “The Dura Synagogue
Costumes and Parthian Art,” in The Dura-Europos Synagogue: A Re-evaluation, 1932-1992, ed.
Joseph Gutmann (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992), 52-77; Goldman, “Graeco-Roman Dress in
Syro-Mesopotamia,” in The World of Roman Costume, ed. Judith Lynn Sebesta and Larissa Bon-
fante (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1994), 163-81; Simon James on military dress in
this volume. Heyn, “Terentius Frieze in Context,” 221-33. For discussion of dress at its possible
significance at nearby Palmyra: Heyn, “Gesture and Identity”; “Sacerdotal Activities,” 170-93.

96 Sebastian Heath, “Trading at the Edge: Pottery, Coins, and Household Objects at Dura-Europos,”
in Edge of Empires: Pagans, Jews, and Christians at Roman Dura-Europos, ed. Jennifer Y. Chi and
Sebastian Heath, exh. cat. (New York: Institute for the Study of the Ancient World; Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 2011), 63-73; Kevin Butcher, Coinage in Roman Syria: Northern Syr-
ia, 64 BC-AD 253 (London: Royal Numismatic Society, 2004).

97 Fergus Millar, The Roman Near East, 31 BC-AD 337 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press,
1993), 230, 257.

98 Eisner, Imperial Rome, 12.

99 Joris Aarts, “Coins, Money and Exchange in the Roman World: A Cultural-Economic Perspec-
tive,” Archaeological Dialogues 12, no. 1 (2005): 1-44, esp. 8 citing Hopkins for this view.

100 Print volumes have begun to appear. Roman Provincial Coinage is under the general editorship
of Andrew Burnett and Michel Amandry of the British Museum and the Bibliotheque nationale
de France respectively. The Antonine coins are available online, http://rpc.ashmus.ox.ac.uk/.

101 Howgego, “Coinage and Identity,” 13-14.

102 Aarts, “Coins, Money and Exchange,” 9. Another important examination of coins in the prov-
inces is: Howgego, “Coinage and Identity,” 17nl47 for brief consideration of use. Also, George
Williamson, “Aspects of Identity,” in Coinage and Identity, 19-27.

103 Aarts, “Coins, Money and Exchange,” 12.

104 Ibid.

105 Mattingly, “Being Roman,” 22.

106 Revell, introduction to Roman Imperialism and Mattingly, “Being Roman.” See also note 37
above for additional bibliography.

iiMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMii

Identities in the Roman World: Discrepancy,
Heterogeneity, Hybridity, and Plurality

David J. Mattingly

Introduction: Ways of Seeing and Ways of Being in the Roman World

The rise of the nation state and the triumph of the great monotheisms have helped shape a
modern world in which our identity affiliations are often founded on one or other of these
primary cultural bases. Yet the world has not been ever thus, and plural identities and multiple
cultural associations have generally been much more common in human societies than sin-
gular affiliations.1 A prime argument of this essay is that this natural tendency toward plural
expressions of identity in human society was further amplified in the Roman Empire by the
operation of colonial power networks.2 This approach produces a different picture and new
understanding of Roman provincial societies from the conventional one that focuses predom-
inantly on the degree of Romanness and the elite end of society. In place of an agenda that has
prioritized the commonalities and similar cultural practices across this vast empire under the
paradigm of Romanization, I argue instead that the study of the heterogeneity and hybridity
present in Roman provincial societies offers a complementary and potentially more interest-
ing perspective on the Roman world.

My sub-heading, “Ways of Seeing and Ways of Being,” draws attention to the fact that I
suspect many classicists still subconsciously assume that people in antiquity generally per-
ceived their world through the colonizer s eyes and desired to be Roman to the best of their
abilities or means. We have thus been accustomed to giving Roman identity priority, leading
us to emphasize a process of “becoming Roman.”3 However, a fundamental point about iden-
tity in the past is that such high level group denominators were not necessarily as self-evident
or appropriate then as they seem to us today. It is pertinent to question the size, coherence,
and ubiquity of a pan-empire group of people who identified themselves as “Romans.” I recall
the consternation in a packed room at the first Roman Archaeology Conference in Reading
in 1995, when the prehistorian John Barrett had the temerity to ask, “Upon what grounds do
we believe something called the Roman Empire actually existed?”4 Barrett went on to say, “To
regard the Empire as the product of discourse is not to question its existence. . .what it does is
lead us to doubt that the Empire was ever a single reality, a totality whose truth can be reduced
to a basic set of organising principles of coercive forces. [...] The Roman Empire as some
reified totality is the historians construct.”5 His point was that the Roman Empire was the
product of a range of historical forces interacting across time and space with many different

David }. Mattingly

peoples, whose experience and knowledge of the empire varied enormously. The historical
model of the Roman Empire embeds knowledge into a discourse that smooths off the rough
edges and idealizes its structures in an essentialist fashion.

Despite the massive erosion of knowledge about the Roman Empire through loss of doc-
umentary records and destruction of sites and material culture over time, the reality is that
ancient historians today know far more about the history, geography, and functioning of the
empire than the average subject would have in antiquity. However, the opposite is true of the
individual experience of empire, which was highly personal. A similar argument can surely
also be extended to the idea of what it meant to be Roman. Modern scholarship has reified
its understanding based on a mass of fragmentary information to project an image of average
Romans. These are the people we tend to encounter in museum pictorial displays and popular
books: dining on couches, walking on mosaic floors, wearing togas or Mediterranean-style
stolas, erecting statues to the living, tombstones to the deceased, and dedications to Lati-
nized gods, or being stereotypical soldiers and gladiators. Yet how close were these imagined
Romans to the everyday realities of provincial life?

My sense is that there were many types of Roman lived experience. Nor should this be
difficult for us to countenance. We live in a postcolonial age, increasingly in polyglot, mul-
ticultural, and multi-ethnic communities, practicing a wide array of religions. My home city
of Leicester in the UK has a minority white Anglo-Saxon population living alongside large
groups of people whose families originated in parts of South or East Asia, in Africa, and in
the West Indies, to consider just the major groups. The religious landscape there comprises
not only a wide variety of buildings relating to Christian denominations (Catholic, Anglican,
non- conformist, Quaker, etc.), but also many temples of Hindus, Sikhs, and Jains, Islamic
mosques, and Jewish synagogues.6 The experience of and participation in British society varies
dramatically for locational and generational reasons. Children in schools readily cross bound-
aries of race and religion and indulge in common interests and activities, but at home or after
school they may speak different languages and participate in activities that closely bond them
to distinctive sub-communities (attending Koranic school at the mosque and so on). In some
respects, this sort of code switching in twenty- first- century Leicester has more in common
with Roman antecedents, in that the Roman period was characterized by enhanced migration
and social diversity and plural identities. Insoll explicitly identifies the city of Rome as “an
earlier experiment in multiculturalism.”7 Although comparative historical studies will always
be difficult across ages with radically different sources of information available, the well-es-
tablished discipline of postcolonial studies can assist classical scholarship by demonstrating a
different model of the dynamics of colonialism to that prevailing in Roman studies.8

“Omnes Romani facti sunt et omnes Romani dicuntur”

Groupness can be constructed in many different ways in human societies, including ethnicity,
language, religion, communities (real and imagined), gender, age, and so on.9 Ethnicity was
weakly evolved in the ancient Mediterranean,10 with political boundaries even in pre-Roman
times often cutting across ethnic or linguistic groupings. This lack of a strong correlation of
ethnic identity with political units— such as in Egypt, the Hellenistic Kingdoms, or Italy it-
self—is often assumed to have fostered the emergence of a cross-provincial “Roman” identity.
This idea is strongly evoked by the comment from St. Augustine that provides the sub-title of
this section: “Who now knows which nations in the Roman Empire were what, when all have
become Romans, and are called Romans?”11 While this might at first glance seem conclusive
evidence of a uniform sense of Roman identity, we should be cautious. For one thing, Augus-
tine was writing about the early fifth-century position, when it is indeed logical to assume that
pre-Roman ethnic identities had been diluted after many centuries of imperial rule. But we

Identities in the Roman World: Discrepancy, Heterogeneity, Hybridity, and Plurality

should be careful how far we retroject the idea of a commonly perceived Roman identity that
was more or less ubiquitous across the empire.

In any case, Roman identity was more a matter of law than of culture. Roman citizenship
was part of a package of status and privileges that might have facilitated such a development,
but its cultural significance is easily exaggerated. In the western provinces, enfranchisement
of the Italian peoples, and later elite members of the conquered communities, auxiliary vet-
erans, manumitted slaves of citizens, and even some entire (particularly compliant and mer-
it-worthy) communities added significant numbers to the body of Roman citizens; similar
processes operated to a lesser extent in the eastern provinces too. However, before the Consti-
tutio Antoniniana in 212 CE, Roman citizens remained an influential and privileged minority
within the empires overall population. The Roman citizen body comprised people of radically
different status groups— at one extreme aristocratic oligarchs, at the other ex-slaves, along
with soldiers, veterans, and families who had enjoyed close relations with the empire, or com-
munities fortunate to live in the favored Italian heartlands. Legal status and tax breaks were
important perks of citizen rank, but there were many more factors that divided the ranks
of Roman citizens into regional or social groups than there were reasons to promote their
Roman identity as uniquely important to them as a monolithic group.

Even with the eventual wide spread of Latinity and Roman citizenship after 212 (and we
should remember that Latin was always a language spoken by a tiny minority in the East),
centrifugal forces remained as strong as centripetal ones among the polyglot and regionally
diverse peoples assimilated within the imperial structures of Rome. Bilingualism was com-
mon across the empire, and linguistic mixes and competences were key elements in defining
regional and social differences.12 Groupness was more commonly associated with lower order
political units— city states and towns, clans, tribes and petty kingdoms, military units, and so
on. There is no evidence that people in the British archipelago thought of themselves as Brit-
ons or that the diverse inhabitants of North Africa had a common sense of African identity
in opposition to Rome. The Roman sources sometimes referred to provincial populations in
these broad terms, but these were surely externally observed groupings, imposed as a short-
hand way to characterize peoples encountered by Rome. The territories annexed to Rome
were in general a patchwork— racially, linguistically, and culturally. The Germans beyond the
Rhine remained a multiplicity of regional peoples; Germania was a Roman construct and to
some extent an ideological fiction.13 While it is true that enfranchisement as Roman citizens
did create a legal identity that over time came to rival local political affiliations, it is striking
that Roman provinces were little used as a marker of an individual’s identity, notwithstanding
Moderans recent attempt to identify provincial identity as the “troisieme patrie.”14 There is
little evidence that people badged themselves as say Tripolitanians or Byzacenans, to use two
African provinces as examples. Where a geographically related identity was expressed it con-
tinued to be most commonly the town or place of birth or a regionally defined entity (native
civitas or pre-existing ethnic name).

Commonalities: The Romanization Approach

The Romanization paradigm has had its problems dissected, to the point of dismemberment,
by British Romanists across the last 20 years.15 There have been several announcements of the
demise of Romanization, yet it continues to display some signs of vital functions, especially
in Roman scholarship emanating from other European and North American countries. The
journey I took from initial acceptance of Romanization as a key construct of the discipline,
to something that needed special nuancing to be useful, to outright rejection of the paradigm
can easily be traced in my published work.16 1 do not propose to go over the argument in detail
here. It will suffice to summarize my main objections to Romanization and to explain why I
have decided to abandon it as an explanatory device.

David }. Mattingly

Romanization places emphasis above all on elite sites, Roman state structures, monumen-
tal public buildings, and elite culture, and universalizes the experience of this culture and
the valuing of it across Roman society, whereas there are good reasons to see access to these
Roman markers as being much more restricted in Roman society.

The preceding point shows how Romanization has led us to take a fundamentally pro-Ro-
man and top-down view of the empire. This is also partly affected by the choice of monuments
to excavate and display for public consumption— which reflect the elite and state- focused
agenda (public monuments in towns, villas, and urban domus associated with artworks, forts,
etc.).

Meanwhile, field survey and rescue archaeology in many countries, especially in Europe,
but also in other parts of the empire, have started to publicize a more random cross-section
of archaeology, including lesser rural settlements and lower order urban habitation. The new
data produced by this sort of work stretches the Romanization paradigm to the limit.

Romanization can also be said to focus to a greater extent on the degree of sameness within
and across provinces, rather than on the degree of difference or divergence. As we shall see,
when we seek to examine identity, it is the diversity of culture and behavior that is potentially
most revealing about social attitudes across the full spectrum of society.

Romanization also suffers from being an intellectually lazy shortcut in that it is commonly
used to describe both the process and the result of cultural change, introducing a strong ele-
ment of circularity to the argument.

It is an unhelpful term in that it implies that cultural change was unilateral and unilinear,
prioritizing the Roman aspect of complex cultural interactions and encouraging the use of
binary oppositions such as Roman : native.

It is part of a modern colonial discourse on the nature of empire, being formulated in
the late nineteenth- and early twentieth- century heyday of modern European and American
empires. Quite apart from the issue of whether the term has continuing practical utility is the
issue of whether the modern colonial associations render it unsuited (and potentially damag-
ing to our subject) in a postcolonial age.17 It is worth reflecting on the differing fate of the study
of eugenics in the twentieth century.

Through long and varied use in different scholarly traditions, Romanization has multiple
meanings and understandings, making it a flawed paradigm.

A final point about Romanization is that it has generally been more central to studies
of western than eastern provinces. Its application to the cultural complexity of Egypt or the
Asian territories of the empire, for instance, has always been unconvincing lip service to a
dogma developed in the European lands.18 Seen from Yale, the incongruity of the concept of
the Roman East has long been evident. Dura-Europos is a classic instance, in fact, of a city that
pushed cultural boundaries in different directions, spatially and chronologically.19

There has been a trend in the last years to repackage Romanization through the use of
terms like Romanitas or Romanness.20 1 am not sure this solves the problem entirely as it still
places the main emphasis on measuring the degree of adherence to supposed Roman cultural
norms. I think a more radical approach to the issue is desirable, though I need to be clear that
I am not advocating that Romanists abandon the study of the phenomenon formerly referred
to as Romanization. Rather I am suggesting that we approach the issue of cultural change
from other directions, allowing us to reach new understandings of the mass of data already
accumulated and informing the agenda of future study.

Diversity and Difference: The Potential of Identities

Identity is very much the Zeitgeist of archaeology21 and classical studies at present.22 While
some of the recent work invoking identity reveals the strong imprint of works by Bourdieu
(on praxis), Foucault (on power, sexuality), and Giddens (on structuration), much of it

Identities in the Roman World: Discrepancy, Heterogeneity, Hybridity, and Plurality

is theoretically unsophisticated.23 The transference from Romanization to identity can be
graphically illustrated by the UK Roman Archaeology Conference, where the numbers of
papers and sessions mentioning Romanization and identity have moved in inverse direc-
tions over the last 20 years.24 While there has been evident enthusiasm for the concept, there
have also been doubts and questions about its application. Indeed there is a possibility that
classics has arrived at the party late, when other guests have departed the scene. In the social
sciences, some serious concerns have been raised about the continuing utility of “identity”
as an underlying concept of those disciplines. The arguments overlap in several respects
with the critique I have just advanced of Romanization: 1) “Identity” is so broadly defined
and applied as a concept that it loses “analytical purchase”; 2) “Identity” is an essentialist
construct that reifies understanding by giving solidity to what is actually fluid and ill-de-
fined; 3) “Identity” is both a category of practice and a category of analysis; and 4) “Identity”
is increasingly put in inverted commas or qualified by strings of adjectives in attempts to
disguise its analytical shortcomings. No doubt some of the difficulties relate to the semantic
looseness with which the term is employed.25

The uses of identity cover a wide range of social situations. Following Brubaker and Coo-
per, identity can be defined as: 1) The basis of social or political action; 2) A collective phe-
nomenon, relating to the sense of sameness within groups or categories; 3) A core element of
individual or collective “selfhood”; 4) The product of social or political action (where it relates
to the processual development of groupness); and 5) The product of multiple and competing
discourses, highlighting the dynamic, fragmented, and plural nature of sense of self.26

Part of the problem is that use of the term “identity” in academic publications often
elides these distinct categories or leaves undefined the precise sense in which it is intended.
The analytical value of the concept is much reduced when its meaning is so ambiguous or
when the interpretational emphasis is focused on the essentialist construction of a primary
affiliation for an individual or group. Such criticisms do not to my mind invalidate the
analytical potential of “identity” provided that the manner in which it is to be employed is
clearly defined and that the concept is used in an analytical manner, rather than as a mere
tool of description.27 My own approach combines aspects of points 4) and 5) in the above
list, with the emphasis on the fluid and shape-shifting nature of multiple identity formu-
lations operating within society. Clearly there is a need for other practitioners in classical
studies also to be explicit in their theoretical and methodological approaches to identity, to
minimize ambiguity in the employment of the term. Despite the criticisms of “identity” in
the social sciences, from the evidence of the last decades of Roman research, I believe the
advantages of studying cultural change via the identity agenda outweigh the negatives, at
least in contrast to Romanization. In this light, we can see that Romanization has tended to
produce a reified view of a Roman identity, which is smoothed and averaged across chrono-
logical, spatial, and social boundaries to the point where it in fact does not correspond to
the precise evidence on the ground at any particular place or moment.

My approach to the use of identity in relation to the Roman Empire can be summa-
rized in a few brief points. A key theme of my work is to explore evidence for different
broad identity groups in provinces under Roman rule. In a world of potentially infinite
identity presentations, it is preferable to seek to delineate some broad communities rather
than atomization to the level of individuals. My initial work has focused on detecting gross
differences between these groups in terms of material culture and behavior patterns. For
instance, in studies of Britain and Africa, I have delineated large differences between the
identity markers of urban, rural, and military communities.

There were evidently many ways of constructing a “Roman” identity (and by “Roman”
identity I mean a presentation of self that reflected the place of an individual within the power
structures of the Roman world). Identity studies also allow us to access and assess differing
levels of social conformity in Roman society. It is increasingly clear that identity strategies

David }. Mattingly

were not simply about emulation (as Romanization has tended to suggest). Rather the desire
to create a sense of differentiation and distance from other groups in society often seems to
have been a crucial factor in material and behavioral choices. Identity lends itself to explora-
tion of both inter- and intra- communal difference. It has also become apparent that within
the broad communities I defined there was lots of internal variability in the use of material
culture and that there was dynamic change across time (leading to a plurality of identities).

Identity and Material Culture

A major problem in the archaeological application of identity studies concerns the use of
material culture as evidence.28 There are, of course, also problems in utilizing textual evi-
dence, since written testimony is not immune to bias and misdirection. However, at least
the study of texts can be regulated by the rigor of “source criticism.” Artifacts have rarely
been considered as active agents of culture, as opposed to passive objects.29 When arti-
facts are identified as having been imbued with special value as identity markers, not much
thought is given to the way in which they were used in society or consideration of the fact
that the same artifacts could have varied uses and diverse significance to different groups.

Some artifacts convey clear information about associated behaviors. For example, the
distribution of amphorae and the incidence of graffiti on pots at sites in Britain illustrate
different consumption behaviors among the military community in comparison to urban
and rural communities.30 The military diet in Britain favored wine/oil over the north Euro-
pean norm of beer/butter, despite the inconvenience and expense of shipping Mediterra-
nean amphora commodities across vast distances. Graffiti on pots also speaks to us of the
emphasis on literate behaviors in the military. While the adoption of shiny red pottery fine
wares has sometimes rather simplistically been equated with Romanization, the spread of
similar styles of pottery in many areas was more likely a consequence of the globalization of
the Roman world (such as the vessels from Gaul and Tunisia in the present exhibition, plates
161, 166).31 Close analysis again reveals different patterns of consumption among the three
broad communities. Identity patterns are more concealed and pertain to different usage
made of pottery by various groups in society, by the emergence of different types of vessels at
a regional level, or the preference for certain vessel types by different sectors of the provincial
community.32 When historical archaeologists of the Americas recognized the potential of
material culture to play a larger role in the tracing of lifeways and social identity, this led to
the development of artifactual studies covering a wide range of mundane artifacts.33

One of the problems impeding studies of Roman material culture is that the recording
of artifacts is often highly selective and favors the more “Roman” or “elite” classes. In North
Africa, for instance, there are comparatively few excavated sites with comprehensive pub-
lications of all classes of pottery and small finds, whereas in Britain not only are excavated
assemblages published in detail (backed up by grey literature reports in other cases),34 but
there is also a major national cataloguing and mapping program related to surface and met-
al-detected finds (the Portable Antiquities Scheme).35 The full potential of finds is revealed
in cases not only where they have been well catalogued but also where the depositional
context has been carefully recorded, allowing a proper assessment of the use behavior to
be assessed.36 From such bodies of data new types of analysis are becoming possible. Hella
Eckardt s work has revealed very different levels of engagement with a range of artifact types
across my three communities (military, urban, and rural). Lamps (and by implication arti-
ficial light) were overwhelmingly connected with the military community and the largest
cities, while a range of toilet implements reveal a distribution much more focused on smaller
urban centers and rural communities.37 The remarkable dossier of artifacts, paintings, relief
carvings, and inscriptions relating to the Roman army at Dura-Europos (see for example the
painting of Terentius, fig. 6.2; and bronze artifacts in the present catalogue, plates 60, 62-65)

Identities in the Roman World: Discrepancy, Heterogeneity, Hybridity, and Plurality

provides remarkable insights into the creation of a package of material and behavioral mark-
ers of a Roman military identity that was widely diffused within the empire.38

It is also important to remember that Roman culture spread far beyond the frontier.39
The possession of artifacts from the Roman world in Germany, Scandinavia, Ireland, India,
or the central Sahara did not mean that people in these remote regions were perceived or
saw themselves as “becoming Roman.” The adoption of some of the material trappings of
a powerful neighboring civilization was potentially a strategy to reinforce or to transform
local power structures. What is clear is that the associated behaviors and use context of
material culture beyond the frontiers often followed unusual patterns, creating distinctive
expressions of indigenous identity, not pale imitations of Rome. Why might this not also
apply to some instances of uptake of Roman material culture within the provinces?

Artifacts that are perceived as artworks are a particularly well studied subset of Roman
material culture, though the tendency is often to correlate discoveries within an established
canon of classical art, with less attention paid to regional peculiarities and distinctiveness
or to pre-existing traditions of art.40 There is also sometimes a tendency to elide the stylistic
and iconographic characteristics of a huge range of material, which reflects pre-Roman
traditions, cosmopolitan art of the Roman Empire, and distinctive regional provincial art
forms as though this vast corpus was part of a single continuum. The art of the Roman
Empire was a product of the colonial environment in which it was created and more work
is needed to draw this out.41 Dura-Europos is an exceptional example of this, but detailed
regional studies of almost any corner of the empire will produce surprising patterns. To cite
one example on which I have worked, the funerary iconography of tombs at Ghirza in the
Libyan desert can be linked in part to “Roman” norms, but are more appropriately seen as
a localized response to new ways of expressing Libyan cultural ideas about power, ancestor
worship, fertility, and so on.42

I want to end this section with a few general reflections on how archaeologists use mate-
rial culture to define identity. In part because artifacts, especially art objects and precious
items, are divorced from their use context, some of our interpretations are a bit relativist. In
fact, Romanization theory has encouraged us to sum and amplify the main material culture
markers and draw conclusions about the degree of Romanness present. I have encapsulated
this approach in an imagined equation (perhaps devised by Einsteinorix as his Theory of
Social Relativity):

I = me2

(I = Identity, me = material culture)

Put crudely, Romanness has tended to be determined by the amount of Roman “stuff” that
people had, with its importance multiplied and other material cultures present ignored.

As I have been arguing, however, a fundamental point about the analysis of artifacts is
that it was not generally the artifacts that defined identity; rather it was the specific associ-
ated behaviors and contexts of use. I argue that identity is the product of a complex set of
interactions involving structure and agency, material culture and behavior. These relation-
ships can be imagined as an alternative equation to the one above:

I = Ss/Sa + B(mc)

(I = Identity, Ss = Social structures, Sa = Social agency, B = Behaviors, me = material culture)

I am not suggesting that either equation is of any practical value in exploring identity, and I
present them simply as a heuristic device to illustrate the over-simplifying emphasis of the
Romanization approach when compared with the complexity I believe we need to intro-
duce to discussions of the linkage between material culture and identity. What I am trying to

David }. Mattingly

convey here is the complex interplay between artifacts, behaviors, and aspects of individual
agency and social structure that should be considered in defining identity. While it may not
always be possible to delineate all these factors in full from the archaeological material avail-
able, we should at least attempt to keep all these in mind.

Discrepant Identity

A further key ingredient of my approach to identity is the recognition that the social behav-
iors witnessed across Roman society were to some extent contingent on the colonial context.43
It is for this reason that I favor the use of the word “discrepant” in relation to the range of
identities that I have delineated, as this term conveys more effectively than “different” or “plu-
ral” or “hybrid” that such outcomes were achieved in a world of colonial power networks.44
Identity has a harder edge in such drastically unequal societies and many behaviors are con-
strained or distorted by the realities of where political, social, or economic power resided.
In the early days of Romanization theory there was a common assumption that Rome had a
deliberate and evolved cultural program, designed to make the provinces more Roman and
thus easier to govern. In more recent times, the emphasis has shifted to native agency as an
explanation for the patterns of adoption of Roman identity.45 My preference is to see the
complex cultural combinations as the result of highly varied colonial situations in which key
intentional acts of the state (such as imposing garrisons, raising taxes, redistributing land,
and exploiting resources) elicited a range of responses from subject peoples, which were also
affected in repeated feedback cycles by the systemic effects of empire (fig. 3.1).46 This relates
to the generally unintended consequences of imperial power imbalances. These create condi-
tions in which individuals charged with delivering elements of imperial rule (from governors,
to soldiers, to councilors, to tax collectors) had the opportunity, or the latent potential at least,
to exceed their brief. The perception of how power operated or could operate was thus a factor
in guiding behavioral choices and further consequential acts.

Intentional acts
(structure)

Systemic effects
(unforeseen consequences)

Consequential acts
(native agency)

Garrison deployments

Brutality

Behavior modifications

Census taking

Surveillance and intrusion

Resistance (economic)

Tax settlements

Abuses/corruption/ extortion

Tax payment/ avoidance

Legal frameworks

Legal inequalities

Reinforced social hierarchy

Urban promotions and encour-
agement of monumentalization

Fiscal over-commitments of

towns

Elite competition for imperial favor

Land confiscation, survey, and
reassignment

Incentives and penalties

Emergence of greater regional and commu-
nity differences

Creation of imperial estates and
exploitation of natural resources

Conflicts of interest between
locals and officials/ chief tenants

Loss of valuable resources to community

Language of government

Exclusive nature

Linguistic choices

Enslavement

Individual exploitation

Increase in slave ownership

Recruitment

Loss of men to community

Recruits absorbed into military community

Operation of imperial economy

Unequal economic opportuni-
ties and consequences

Investment in province from outside and
inside

3.1. Chart illustrating effects of imperial power structures.

It is commonly stated in Roman studies that the empire was an overall good thing for
its subject peoples and that incorporation into the provincial structure brought tangible

Identities in the Roman World: Discrepancy, Heterogeneity, Hybridity, and Plurality

improvements in the lives of millions.47 The Roman conquest was a short-lived unpleas-
antness, before subjected peoples were able to settle down to “sensible” life in cities and
enjoy the benefits of membership of the Roman club.48 The parallelism between this and
both what Roman writers said of their imperial destiny to rule benevolently and the “white
mans burden” argument elaborated in the late nineteenth century to justify the activities
of European empires is striking.49 All are part of separate imperial discourses intended
to provide the ideological backbone for colonial rule. The Roman world was a drastically
unequal society and it is worth reflecting on the characteristics of such societies before we
conclude that Rome was uniquely accommodating and inclusive among empires and that
her subject peoples were uncommonly consensual. One of the most interesting books of
recent years on the formation of complex societies and the emergence of kingdoms and
empires has focused on the way in which such societies are built on progressively more
dramatic exploitation of underprivileged members, through the emergence of hierarchies
of inequality.50

Are unequal societies consensual and happy ones? Detailed statistical analysis of
Wilkinson and Pickett on modern societies has demonstrated the opposite may be the case.
They have assessed the levels of equality of modern countries in terms of the relationship
between the wealth of the richest 20% and the poorest 20%. Across a huge range of social
markers, what they have found is that the performance of unequal societies significantly lags
behind that of more equal ones. This effect shows up not only in things like life expectancy,
violence, and social mobility, but also in health and mental illness, educational attainment,
social problems and anti-social behavior, happiness, and other measures of human wellbe-
ing.51 There are serious obstacles to demonstrating if this holds true for the Roman world,
most obviously we lack the sort of statistical data that Wilkinson and Pickett have used.
But the strong modern correlation between inequality in societies and a range of negative
social markers should surely give us pause for thought about our default view of the Roman
world. To play a thought game for a moment, if we did have unlimited access to Roman
census data from a range of provinces (and their predecessors) would those data actually
uphold the assumed picture of a benevolent and beneficent empire raising the standard of
living of the vast majority? Just as the great colonial era buildings of London and Paris do
not represent a time of universally improved living conditions, life-expectancy, incomes,
and social cohesion in those cities, so we should avoid the temptation to equate the monu-
mental achievements of Roman architecture with the greater good in provincial societies.52
This highlights for me why the conventional focus in Romanization studies on elite groups
in society creates a false image of the generality of social wellbeing under Roman rule.

There is in fact some archaeological evidence from human skeletal analysis to suggest
that life expectancy in some areas of the Roman Empire was lower than in pre-Roman times.
The work of Rebecca Redfern has been particularly impressive in this regard, as she has
been able to work with groups of both late Iron Age and Roman inhumations from south-
ern England and thus to compare data on human stature, longevity, disease, and a range
of health markers.53 Interestingly, the results suggest, just like the Wilkinson and Pickett
analysis, that children, adult men, and the elderly faced an increased risk of mortality and
a number of adverse health markers (including enamel hypoplasia related to malnutrition)
under Roman rule. The assumed universal benefits of membership in the Roman Empire
were thus in all probability far less apparent to the majority of its inhabitants than they have
been to generations of modern scholars.54 These issues remind us of the non-consensual
nature of imperial power and the inherent probability that alongside the participation and
collaboration, there was always resistance — albeit primarily cultural or passive.55

Religion and funerary practices are areas of life where the underlying behaviors can
be studied as well as the material culture in use and are thus particularly fruitful ones for
the exploration of identity. Funerary practices are one of the most useful ways to expose

David }. Mattingly

such variations and local/social patterning in identity.56 This
is also one of the most obvious points of departure from the
(incorrectly) assumed norms of the Roman Empire. The
idea that funerary practices were characterized by cremation
burial in the early Principate, with this being increasingly
replaced by inhumation in mid-late imperial times is at best
a partial truth even in the western provinces where the pat-
tern is most commonly encountered. For the East, Egypt,
and Africa the patterns were much more varied.

The first stage of my analysis of discrepant identity has
been to explore the distinctiveness in material culture and
behaviors of the military community, town dwellers, and
rural populations in two provinces, Britain and Africa. Here
I have expanded on the work of specialists on the Roman
army, such as Simon James, who have constructed an impres-
sive picture of the army as a distinctive community, with
organizational structures, dress, linguistic practices, and an
array of distinctive behaviors that set soldiers apart from the
majority of civilians in the provinces.57 What is interesting is
that there are perceptible differences in a range of key social
behaviors that also effectively discriminate between urban
and rural communities. A good example concerns the inci-
dence of Latin tombstones in Britain (fig. 3.2). This has gen-
erally been assumed a normative Roman practice that was
widely adopted across Britain, among soldiers and civilians
alike. Adams and Tobler, for instance, assumed an even split between military and civilian
use of tombstones (fig. 3.3a).58 However, the location map of tombstone findspots shows
that the vast majority come from the militarized part of the province; further analysis leads
to the suggestion that erecting tombstones was primarily a social practice of the military
community, extending to the special categories of civilians closely connected with them
(families, veterans, merchants, and craftspeople living alongside garrison settlements, other
imperial officials, including imperial slaves and freedmen) (fig. 3.3b). At the same time,

tombstones from rural districts are extremely
rare and the exceptions appear to be associated
with extraordinary circumstances (suspected
imperial estates, the territories of veteran colo-
niae, and so on), while finds from towns for
the most part can be attributed to the military
community (soldiers on secondment or in
transit, imperial officials, veterans and their
families) or to foreigners (i.e., non -Britons
who went to the trouble of stating this fact on
the stone). The British civitas center towns are
notable for the absolute paucity of tombstones
recovered (other than those relating to these
exceptional and external groups). Most of
these towns have produced either one or zero
tombstones. This surely reflects a non-partici-
patory cultural choice on the part of the vast
majority of native Britons.59

a. Classification of
Romano-British tombstones
after Adams and Tobler

Unknown 25% Military 33%

Civilian 41%

b. Classification of the same
dataset after Mattingly

Urban/rural
communities 10%

Military community 90%

3.3. Alternative classifications of the corpus of Romano-British
tombstones: a) Adams and Tobler separated women and children
at known military sites from soldiers, boosting the numbers of
“civilians”; b) my reworking of the dataset, assigning men, women,
and children at known garrison sites entirely to the military

3.2. Tombstone of Regina from South Shields
Roman fort near Hadrian's Wall. Arbeia Roman
Fort and Museum, Tyne and Wear Archives and
Museums, T765.

Identities in the Roman World: Discrepancy, Heterogeneity, Hybridity, and Plurality

Heterogeneity, Hybridity, and Plurality

I have argued that a prime reason to abandon the concept of Romanization is that it allows
us to shift attention away from issues of cultural commonality and homogeneity toward
heterogeneity and hybridity. That is not to imply that the issues of commonality lack con-
tinuing relevance, but merely to reflect that after more than a century of the Romanization
agenda those aspects of cultural change are quite well exposed. Colonial “soft power” and
the creation of a globalized socio-economic zone can help account for much of the similar
patterning we trace across the empire. There is a further impact of the neglect or de-em-
phasis of evidence of heterogeneity and long-continued pre-Roman traditions in that such
evidence sits uncomfortably with conventional notions of an inclusive and consensual Ro-
man Empire. A growing interest in postcolonial approaches to imperialism among some
archaeologists60 has been opposed by others with entrenched interests in the model of a
benevolent Roman Empire.61 1 would counter that we may be in a better position to judge
the distinctiveness of the Roman Empire in comparison with more recent imperialisms
once we have subjected the ancient evidence to the same sort of critical analyses that have
been applied to the modern case studies. It is precisely in this light that the exploration of
the underlying factors that explain the hybrid and diverse culture and cultural practices of
the Roman Empire in its entirety is such a pressing need. It does not matter much to me
whether people call this “discrepant identity,” hybridity, or some other term, as long as the
phenomenon is explored — with Scholars’ Day,62 the exhibition, and this book a promising
start. When engaging in colonial comparisons it seems to me that we need to focus on
underlying processes rather than the specific mechanics of colonial systems, as Stark and
Chance have done recently in exploring the strategies adopted by provincials in empires.
The detail varies, but the behaviors can generally be equated with a range of options: bol-
stering, emulation, resistance, exodus, information control, appropriation, complicity, as-
similation (fig. 3. 4). 63

Strategies

Bolstering: E.g., elites seek collaboration with imperial agents to guarantee position within empire

Emulation: E.g., elites (and others) take on styles and practices of imperial elites
Resistance: Provincials seek to reduce or overturn imperial controls
Exodus: Move to escape imperial boundaries or power

Information control: Attempts to conceal or restrict information that was demanded by the imperial
power

Appropriation: Selective adoption of imperial procedures and institutions

Complicity: Individuals pursue own interests (often economic) via collaboration with imperial
regime

Assimilation: Elites and some commoners seek varied degree of social and identity integration with
dominant imperial society

3.4. Strategies of provincials in imperial societies (after Stark and Chance 2012, 193).

Plurality versus Singular Affiliations

In his book Identity and Violence Amartya Sen eloquently makes the case for why we need
to give more attention to multiple affiliations in social analysis, instead of over- emphasizing
singular affiliations, like nation-state or religion.64 This seems to be one of the key safe-
guards against the reifying power of identity studies when narrowly focused. The moment
we prioritize one or a few identity markers we are heading toward essentialist and often

David }. Mattingly

predictable conclusions. Brubaker, while voicing semantic concerns about the use of the
term identity, has highlighted in his other work the importance of multiple ways of defining
groupness. Both writers stress that factors that help define groups may be either specific
to the individual or influenced by external factors (such as the structure and agency rela-
tionship). As Sen observes, “The freedom of choosing our identity in the eyes of others can
sometimes be extraordinarily limited.”65 Some cultural behaviors thus represent “reactive
identity” as a response to socio-political impositions — here I think in particular about the
sorts of colonial humiliation or the dramatic inequalities inherent in a colonial society that
are implied in Figure 3.1.

One of the key questions to ask about political changes is the extent to which they were
transformative of the lived experience of people. This is well illustrated by a story told by
Hugo Gryn in his memoir of growing up in what is now southeast Slovakia. A man from
the town of Berehovo has arrived at the gates of heaven and before admittance is told by an
angel that he must tell the story of his life:

“I was born in the Austro-Hungarian Empire. . .received my education in
Czechoslovakia, and started to work as an apprentice in Hungary. For a time
I also worked in Germany, but I raised my own family and did most of my
life’s work in the Soviet Union.” The angel was impressed. “You certainly
travelled and moved about a great deal.” “Oh no,” the man protested, “I never
left Berehovo!”66

While those political transitions of the early twentieth century were particularly dramat-
ic and had a major impact on the lives of many inhabitants, they were not historically
unique — one can imagine ancient equivalents. In the course of the second century BCE, for
example, the North African coastal city of Lepcis Magna moved from being a Carthaginian
dependency, to a territory of the Numidian Kingdom, to a self-governing Libyphoenician
community, to an ally of Rome, to an effective part of the Roman Empire. Each of those
political changes will have involved cultural realignments.

Plural identities need to be investigated at a number of different levels, not simply in
terms of ethnic, linguistic, or political units — which tend to dominate identity politics. In
my recent work, I have suggested that identity in the Roman provinces may have been
defined by (in no particular order): status, wealth, location, employment, religion, place
of origin, family or ethnicity, proximity of engagement with the Roman imperial project,
legal condition, language, literacy, gender, and age. It is unlikely that there was a predomi-
nant factor that consistently outranked others. Scholars of early Christianity recognize that
religious identity did not serve as a primary affiliation until long after Christianity was
established as the dominant religion.67 Individuals may have belonged to multiple identity
groups at any time, or indeed have acted in socially contingent ways depending on locale,
fellow actors, audience, and so on. In this example I present the complex identity markers
that can be deduced about Regina, a British slave who was freed by and married to Barates,
a Syrian with a connection to the Roman army in northern Britain. The iconography of the
tombstone (fig. 3.2) is that of a respectable Roman matron and the image is regularly used
in books and museum displays to illustrate the archetype of a Roman woman in Britain,
once again exposing the essentialism of the Romanization model. The true story of Regina
shows that her identity and her life were far less straightforward and typical, with a sinister
shadow cast by her enslavement.68

My next example is drawn from Lepcis Magna in Libya. This Libyphoenician city was trans-
formed from the reign of Augustus into one of the most recognizable Roman centers in North
Africa, boasting early examples of Italian- style theaters, market buildings, and pedimental
temples. The people who effected the transformation were not Roman colonists, but local Liby-

Identities in the Roman World: Discrepancy, Heterogeneity, Hybridity, and Plurality

Phoenician notables — men like Annobal Tapapius Rufus, who donated the funds for the
market (11 BCE) and theater (1-2 CE). These early adopters also embraced Latin epigraphy
for public inscriptions (initially as part of handsome bilingual texts), togate statues, and,
increasingly as the first century CE progressed, Roman naming practices and the other
perks of citizenship. At one level this is the classic Romanization success story But there are
indications that more complex identity games were being played out here, even among the
aristocratic order that was most visibly “becoming Roman.” Annobal Tapapius might define
his identity in a number of different ways, in part dependent on social context and the
maintenance of such plural identities; this is strongly supported by the evidence of funerary
practices in first- and second-century CE Lepcis.69

The pre-Roman tradition in Tripolitania included the use of subterranean hypogea for
multiple burials and freestanding tower and obelisk mausolea, in the Punic tradition. Exca-
vations at Lepcis have shown a diversity of Roman burial and commemorative practices.
Initially, many burials continued to be made in specially constructed hypogea of Libyphoe-
nician type. The hypogea type of burial at Lepcis is well illustrated by a double-chambered
example at Gelda, c. 2.5 km southwest of Lepcis. The two funerary chambers were each
constructed with 10 niches for cinerary urns, with a wide bench running around the walls
in front of the niches for the placement of other grave goods. One of the chambers had been
completely cleared in antiquity, but the other contained 1 1 cremations and three inhuma-
tions, evidently deposited between the Flavian period and the mid-second century. The
burial rite employed, the tomb contents, and the epigraphic indications on the cinerary
urns provide a remarkable record of a society in cultural transition. The family seems to
have been from the very top level of Lepcitanian society, as indicated by the quality of the
burial monument, the best of the ash urns and associated grave goods, including fragments
of two folding stools. Two types of cinerary urn were used: the earlier form was a gabled
stone chest; the later type a stone vase, some plain, some with elaborate vegetal decoration.
Most of the urns carried engraved inscriptions, the earlier examples in Neo-Punic script,
the later ones in Latin characters.

Considerable interest lies in the naming practices observed on the ash chests and urns.
Two of the ash chests had Neo-Punic inscriptions, but evidently related to individuals who
already at that time possessed Roman citizenship, Publius Flavius Proculus Iaton and [Pub-
lius Flavius] Iustus Iaton. The final element is evidently a peregrine name added to the tria
nomina. The third ash chest bore the name Flavia Amothmic Nysfur in Latin. The vase urns
all had inscriptions in Latin letters, but though (seemingly) dealing with Roman citizens the
form of names did not generally respect the expected form of presentation of tria nomina
(see fig. 3.5). The vase urns represented an innovation of the Flavian period and probably
derived from Roman models, though several were of clear local manufacture. Overall, this
fascinating assemblage shows a family of early adopters at work, taking on Roman citi-
zenship and Roman names, but maintaining onomastic practices in the tomb that evoked
earlier identity markers in Punic and Libyan society. This family was also quick to switch to
coffined inhumation and plaster portrait busts in the mid- second century.

Other Lepcitanian hypogea have revealed a similar pattern of non-synchronicity between
the forms of names on public inscriptions or on funerary inscriptions outside the tomb and
the use of Neo-Punic or abbreviated Latin names on the cinerary urns. Of approximately
200 inscribed urns known from burials near Lepcis only about 10% used the Latin naming
system properly.70 The majority of these hypogeal burials evidently related to the elite class
and this shows that even among the Lepcitanian elite, who were at the forefront of “becom-
ing Roman,” families often retained Libyan or Punic cognomina in the domestic and funer-
ary contexts, whereas public identity emphasized the purely Latin aspects of the individuals
identity. There is a mix of Latin, Punic, and Libyan names among the inscriptions, and
even the Latin names sometimes reflect the Libyan heritage of an individual, as in the case

David }. Mattingly

Urn no.

Form on urn

Reconstructed name?

1 (Neo-
Punic)

PWBLY PF‘WY PRQL YT/NN/T

Publius Flavius Proculus Iaton

2 (Neo-
Punic)

YHST’ YT/NN/T

(Publius Flavius) Iustus Iaton

FLAVIA AMOTH/MIC NYSFUR

Flavia Amothmic Nysfur

No inscribed name — perhaps originally painted

C. FLAVI PROCULI

C. Flavius Proculus

NAMGYDDE

(?) Namgyddus

C. F. PROCUIL BYDBA/LIS F

C. Flavius Proculus, son of Bydbal

PROCUL

(C. Flavius?) Proculus

CANDIDE

(?) Candidus (or Candida?)

M. F. IUSTI

M. Flavius Iustus

FLAMINIAE GAETULIAE

Flaminia Gaetulia

3.5. Names on funerary urns in the Qasr Gelda hypogeum at Lepcis Magna (after Di Vita-Evrard et al. 1996).

of Flaminia Gaetulia mentioned in Figure 3.5. There are few young children represented
in the hundreds of cremations from Lepcis, and on the ash chests female names are much
less common than male ones (33 : 67). Both of these anomalies may reflect continuation of
pre-Roman cultural traits. A final point about the hypogeal burials is that they continued in
use even after the switch to inhumation and the fact that the inhumations were inserted into
the hypogea alongside the existing ash urns that were moved to one side but not cleared out
completely, suggests continuity of family use.

The contrast between building dedications from within the city where tria nomina were
generally used by prominent Lepcitanians from the late first century CE and funerary texts on
mausolea, evidently for people of the same sort of elevated social status, is striking. The man
commemorated on the Qasr Duirat mausoleum near Lepcis, C. Marius Boccius Zurgem, has
a distinctly Libyan extra cognomen and this pattern echoes other examples.71 These Libyan
or Libyphoenician lineage groups seem to have remained of high significance for the first
generation or so after acquisition of Roman citizen status.

The first use of Latin varied across different types of inscriptional contexts (with its
use initially overlapping with Neo-Punic): public inscriptions were the first to change, fol-
lowed by funerary inscriptions, and finally by names inscribed on the urns within tombs.
Nor was there a synchronous cutoff point across these different types of inscriptions when
Neo-Punic gave way finally to Latin. In other words, the Libyphoenician elite adopted Latin
much sooner and more completely in the public sphere than in the domestic sphere. Punic
remained the key spoken language at Lepcis, and its use in funerary inscriptions long out-
lasted its disappearance in public inscriptions. The funerary landscape at Lepcis thus reveals
a rather different pattern of identity presentation to the monumental urban core and the
world of public inscriptions, statues, and mosaics.

In my work on Britain and Africa, I have dealt with very different types of data. Britain
is rich in published artifact assemblages covering a wide range of materials but is com-
paratively weak in epigraphic and literary data. Africa has a disproportionate volume of
inscriptions and literary texts, notably from the Christian period, whereas the artifactual
record is heavily slanted toward elite artworks, with few sites for which the mundane cul-
ture of daily life has been well published. Nonetheless, I have found in both cases that the
approach of discrepant identity has yielded interesting and valid results.72 That gives me
hope that the approach will have utility elsewhere too, notwithstanding the fact that our
datasets are so varied and incomplete. New approaches to data collection can enhance the

Identities in the Roman World: Discrepancy, Heterogeneity, Hybridity, and Plurality

datasets available, as in the outstanding work on household assemblages carried out by
Anna Boozer in the Dakhla oasis town of Amheida.73 Dura-Europos seems to me to be
another ideal site to apply discrepant identity analysis to, with its plural and highly dif-
ferentiated expressions of groupness and individual personhood.74 However, rather than
seeing sites like Dura-Europos as exceptional, we need to recognize the likelihood that
this sort of hybrid cultural plurality was probably much closer to the norm at many sites
in the Roman Empire. Nor do we need the extraordinary preservation conditions of sites
like Dura-Europos, Amheida, or Pompeii to engage in the sort of analysis of identities that
I am advocating. All that is required is a change of mindset and asking different questions
of the available evidence.

Cultural Backwaters and Cultural Backwash

In 2012-13 there was a major exhibition in central Rome, spread across the Colosseum and
several monuments in the Roman Forum. Roma Caput Mundi. . .fra dominio e integrazione
explored traditional themes in Roman studies. It posed the old question: How was it that
the Roman Empire enjoyed such success in unifying the ancient Mediterranean and lands
beyond for so long? The theme of domination, though given equal billing in the title, was
much less prominent in the displays, which strongly emphasized integration as the key
aspect of Roman imperialism. Perhaps inevitably, Romanization still looms large in the
model proposed:

The Romanisation of Italy and the provinces was not like a blanket spread
over cities and countryside with the intention of eliminating diversity and
turning the infinitely varied colours of local culture into a monochrome
fabric. Roman identity was never forced on Rome’s conquered subjects, can-
celling pre-existing identities as punishment for defeat. Rebellions were put
down ruthlessly, but the Romans did not force their culture on submissive
former enemies. .. Romanisation was the highest privilege they could offer,
and since they were convinced that their culture was superior, they thought
it natural that foreigners should make it their own. Individuals chose to be-
come Romanised because they were attracted to Roman culture, because it
raised their social status, because it allowed them access to local and public
offices. [. ..] Fusion of the dominant culture and indigenous cultures could
lead to diverse and novel ways of life. Romanisation was like a unique tree
that spread the same branches everywhere, but produced fruits of different
flavours.75

Leaving aside the florid and mixed metaphors and the emphasis on false negatives here, this
passage is interesting for the way it still presents cultural change as something that was initi-
ated by Romans and that took place in the provinces. However, the Rome exhibition in fact
illustrated a very different pattern of cultural interaction. Since virtually all the material pre-
sented in the exhibition came from Rome or Italy, the real subject was the transformation of
the metropolitan heartland of the Roman Empire and the integration of an extraordinary
diversity of new cultural markers, religions, and ethnic groups within Roman society. The
catalogue is filled with images of these cultural innovations often culturally incongruous in
the context of republican Italy, with much epigraphic testimony of migration of people from
all corners of the empire, some voluntarily, some forced. Here we encounter one of the great
paradoxes of imperialism: the more wide-flung and diverse the cultural territories incor-
porated, the greater the long-term transformation of the metropolitan core, with cultural
change at the center generally running at a faster pace and exceeding the transformation
in the provinces. The reason is self-evident when one considers the operation of an empire

David }. Mattingly

like Rome — the individual provinces were opened up to new cultural ideas from Rome
and to potentially enhanced regional contacts and migration flows, but the effects often
appear to be focused at certain key sites, or on particular social groups (mainly elites) and
representative of only a subset of the totality of the material culture of the Roman Empire.
On the other hand, the metropolitan center was open to reciprocal cultural flows and mi-
gration with all the provinces. The scale and pace of cultural change was thus much more
dramatic and multi-dimensional than what we encounter in the provinces. Many provincial
territories remained relative cultural backwaters, where pre-Roman traditions and practices
were long maintained, while we might characterize what we witness at Rome as the cultural
backwash of empire.

The cultural changes were not always welcome in conservative Rome — as the section in
the Roma Caput Mundi exhibition on the attempted repression of the Bacchanalia in 186
BCE illustrates. But it is equally apparent from the sequel to the ultimately unsuccessful
action against the Bacchic cult that the Roman state had limited ability to constrain or con-
trol the multilateral process of cultural exchanges that imperial conquest had unleashed.
Like the tide coming in, cultural backwash is an unavoidable side effect of empire.

Conclusions

In this paper, I have advanced eight key arguments.

In the first place, I challenge the common assumption that there was a clear-cut Roman
identity that was widely adopted across the Roman world. This has implications for the way
in which we approach the material culture and behaviors of people living in the Roman
provinces. Linked to this first proposition, I also think it mistaken to prioritize a singular
non-Roman alternative identity. Thirdly, this Roman : non-Roman binary opposition is
embedded in Romanization theory and is a further reason we need to replace the Roman-
ization discourse with new approaches linked to identity.

The fourth issue raised relates to the emergence of “identity” in the last decades as a
serious alternative to Romanization, and the fact that the application of identity studies
in archaeology also has problematic aspects and theoretical and methodological processes
that need to be clearly defined.

My fifth point relates to my own approach to identity, which takes as its starting points
the inherent diversity of material culture in the Roman world and the fact that imperial
systems elicit discrepant behavioral responses covering a broad spectrum from resistance
to consensual participation.

The next point acknowledges that while there is value in looking for variance in identity
markers and behaviors at the level of broad groups — the army, townspeople, rural commu-
nities— it is evident that there was huge variance within these groups as well as between
them and a plurality of identities resulted which were dynamic rather than static.

My seventh point recognizes that the ultimate goal of studying identity in the Roman
world is not simply to categorize specific examples (the stamp collecting approach), but
to use such studies to arrive at a deeper understanding of how the impact of the Roman
Empire operated at the social level, revealing the varied choices and priorities of the mil-
lions of subjects, not simply the culture and aspirations of the ruling elite who have pre-
dominated in the Romanization view.

Finally, I have suggested that the cultural flows between metropolitan center and
provinces, between province and province, and between provinces and center are highly
variable. Paradoxically, especially in relation to the assumptions underlying a model like
Romanization, the greatest net cultural change in an imperial system is often located at its
metropolitan center due to the focusing there of the diverse cultural influences of all the
provinces. This is what Edwards and Woolf encapsulated in Rome the Cosmopolis, but we

Identities in the Roman World: Discrepancy, Heterogeneity, Hybridity, and Plurality

might equally think of Rome as one of the first multicultural cities, characterized not by its
sense of unchanging Romanitas so much as myriad plural identities.76

David }. Mattingly

1 Amartya Sen, Identity and Violence: The Illusion of Destiny (New York: Norton, 2006).

2 The chapter summarizes and takes further work on identity that I have been engaged with over
the last decade, see “Vulgar and Weak ‘Romanization,’ or Time for a Paradigm Shift?,” review of
Italy and the West: Comparative Issues in Romanization, ed. Simon Keay and Nicola Terrenato,
Journal of Roman Archaeology 15 (2002): 536-40; “Being Roman: Expressing Identity in a Pro-
vincial Setting,” Journal of Roman Archaeology 17 (2004): 5-25; An Imperial Possession: Britain in
the Roman Empire, 54 BC-AD 409 (London: Penguin, 2007); “Cultural Crossovers: Global and
Local Identities in the Classical World,” in Material Culture and Social Identities in the Roman
World, ed. Shelley Hales and Tamar Hodos (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010),
283-95; Imperialism, Power, and Identity: Experiencing the Roman Empire (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 2011).

3 Greg Woolf, Becoming Roman: The Origins of Provincial Civilization in Gaul (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1998); but cf. his earlier article, “Becoming Roman, Staying Greek: Cul-
ture, Identity and the Civilizing Process in the Roman East,” Proceedings of the Cambridge Philo-
logical Society 40 (1994): 116-43.

4 The paper is published as John C. Barrett, “Romanization: A Critical Comment,” in Dialogues in
Roman Imperialism: Power, Discourse and Discrepant Experience in the Roman Empire, ed. David
J. Mattingly (Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 1997), 51-64 (quote from 52).

5 Ibid., 59.

6 Leicester Laith Trail, see http://www2.le.ac.uk/departments/archaeology/research/projects
/ mapping-faith/ faith-trail.

7 See Timothy Insoll, “Configuring Identities in Archaeology,” in The Archaeology of Identities: A
Reader (London: Routledge, 2007), 1-18, see 1 1-13 for the comparison of modern multicultural
societies with the Roman Empire.

8 Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths, and Helen Tiffin, The Post-Colonial Studies Reader (London:
Routledge, 1995); Ashcroft, Griffiths, and Tiffin, Key Concepts in Post-Colonial Studies (London:
Routledge, 1998); Henry Schwarz and Sangeeta Ray, eds., A Companion to Postcolonial Studies
(Oxford: Blackwell, 2000).

9 Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism
(London: Verso, 1983); Rogers Brubaker, Ethnicity without Groups (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press, 2004).

10 Ton Derks and Nico Roymans, eds., Ethnic Constructs in Antiquity: The Role of Power and Tra-
dition (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2009); Jonathan Hall, Ethnic Identity in Greek
Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997); Benjamin Isaac, The Invention of Rac-
ism in Classical Antiquity (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2004); Sian Jones, The Archaeol-
ogy of Ethnicity: Constructing Identities in the Past and Present (London: Routledge, 1997).

11 Augustine, Enarrationes in Psalmos 58.1.21 cited by Jonathan Conant, Stay ing Roman: Conquest
and Identity in Africa and the Mediterranean, 439-700 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2012), 1.

12 J. N. Adams, Bilingualism and the Latin Language (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003).

13 Tacitus, Germania, trans. J. B. Rives (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999).

14 Yves Moderan, “La province, troisieme patrie,” in Provinces et identites provinciales dans VAfrique
romaine, ed. Claude Briand-Ponsart and Yves Moderan (Caen: CRAHM, 2011), 9-40.

Identities in the Roman World: Discrepancy, Heterogeneity, Hybridity, and Plurality

15 Richard Hingley, Globalizing Roman Culture: Unity, Diversity and Empire (London: Routledge
2005); Simon James, ‘“Romanization and the Peoples of Britain,” in Italy and the West: Com-
parative Issues in Romanization, ed. Simon Keay and Nicola Terrenato (Oxford: Oxbow Books,
2001), 187-209; Mattingly, Dialogues in Roman Imperialism-, Jane Webster, “Creolizing the Ro-
man Provinces,” American Journal of Archaeology 105, no. 2 (2001): 209-25; Jane Webster and
Nick Cooper, eds., Roman Imperialism: Post-Colonial Perspectives (Leicester: School of Archaeo-
logical Studies, University of Leicester, 1996).

16 See inter alia, Barri Jones and David J. Mattingly, An Atlas of Roman Britain (Oxford: Blackwell,
1990); Mattingly, Tripolitania (London: Batsford, 1995); Mattingly “Being Roman”; Mattingly,
Imperial Possession; and Mattingly, Imperialism, Power, and Identity.

17 Jane Webster, “Roman Imperialism and the ‘Post-Imperial Age,”’ in Roman Imperialism, 1-17;
Webster, “Ethnographic Barbarity: Colonial Discourse and ‘Celtic Warrior Societies,’” in ibid.,
111-23; Webster, “Necessary Comparisons: A Post-Colonial Approach to Religious Syncretism
in the Roman Provinces,” World Archaeology 28, no. 3 (1997): 324-38.

18 Warwick Ball, Rome in the East: The Transformation of an Empire (London: Routledge, 2000);
Alan Bowman, Egypt after the Pharaohs, 332 BC-AD 642 (Berkeley: University of California
Press, 1996); Fergus Millar, The Roman Near East, 31 BC-AD 337 (Cambridge: Harvard Uni-
versity Press, 1993); Miguel Versluys, “Exploring Identities in the Phoenician, Hellenistic and
Roman East,” Bibliotheca Orientalis 65, nos. 3-4 (2008): 341-56. Cf. also, Woolf, “Becoming
Roman, Staying Greek.”

19 See most notably, Gail L. Hoffman, “Theory and Methodology: Study of Identities Using Ar-
chaeological Evidence from Dura-Europos,” in Dura-Europos: Crossroads of Antiquity, ed. Lisa
R. Brody and Gail L. Hoffman, exh. cat. (Chestnut Hill: McMullen Museum of Art, Boston Col-
lege, 2011), 45-69; Nigel Pollard, “Colonial and Cultural Identities in Parthian and Roman Du-
ra-Europos,” in Aspects of the Roman East: Papers in Honour of Professor Fergus Millar FBA, ed.
Richard Alston and Samuel N. C. Lieu (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007), 81-102. Cf. J. A. Baird, “The
Graffiti of Dura-Europos: A Contextual Approach,” in Ancient Graffiti in Context, ed. J. A. Baird
and Claire Taylor (New York: Routledge, 2011), 49-68, for an attempt to show how different
communities within the town employed graffiti in varied ways and to different degrees.

20 Conant, Staying Roman, 3-9, for an insightful analysis of Romanness.

21 For a representative range of recent studies, Margarita Diaz-Andreu et al., The Archaeology of
Identity: Approaches to Gender, Age, Status, Ethnicity and Religion (London: Routledge, 2005);
Andrew Gardner, “Social Identity and the Duality of Structure in Late Roman-Period Britain,”
Journal of Social Archaeology 2, no. 3 (2002); Gardner, ed., Agency Uncovered: Archaeological
Perspectives on Social Agency, Power, and Being Human (London: University College London
Press, 2004); Melanie Giles, A Forged Glamour: Landscape, Identity and Material Culture in the
Iron Age (Oxford: Windgather, 2012); Margarita Gleba and Helle W. Horsnaes, eds., Communi-
cating Identity in Italic Iron Age Communities (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2011); Hales and Hodos,
Material Culture; Edward Herring and Kathryn Lomas, Gender Identities in Italy in the First Mil-
lennium BC (Oxford: British Archaeological Reports, 2009); Timothy Insoll, ed., The Archaeology
of Identities: A Reader (London: Routledge, 2007): Lynn Meskell, “Archaeologies of Identity,” in
Archaeological Theory Today, ed. Ian Hodder (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2001), 187-213; Louise
Revell, Roman Imperialism and Local Identities (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009);
Ursula Rothe, Dress and Cultural Identity in the Rhine-Moselle Region of the Roman Empire (Ox-
ford: Archaeopress, 2009); Peter van Dommelen and Nicola Terrenato, eds., Articulating Local

David }. Mattingly

Cultures: Power and Identity under the Expanding Roman Republic (Portsmouth: Journal of Ro-
man Archaeology, 2007).

22 See inter alia, Ray Laurence and Joanne Berry, eds., Cultural Identity in the Roman Empire (Lon-
don: Routledge, 1998); Claude Briand-Ponsart, ed., Identites et cultures dans I’Algerie antique
(Rouen: Publications de l’Universite de Rouen, 2005); Claude Briand-Ponsart and Sylvie Cro-
giez, eds., EAfrique du nord antique et medievale: Memoire, identite et imaginaire (Rouen: Publi-
cations de l’Universite de Rouen, 2002); Emma Dench, Romulus’ Asylum: Roman Identities from
the Age of Alexander to the Age of Hadrian (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005); Monique
Dondin-Payre and Marie-Therese Raepsaet-Charlier, Noms, identites culturelles et Romanisation
sous le Haut-Empire (Brussels: Timperman, 2001); Janet Huskinson, ed., Experiencing Empire:
Culture, Identity and Power in the Roman Empire (London: Routledge, 2000); Andrew Wallace-Ha-
drill, Rome’s Cultural Revolution (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008); Tim Whit-
marsh, ed., Local Knowledge and Microidentities in the Imperial Greek World (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 2010).

23 Pierre Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977);
Michel Foucault, Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings, 1972-1977, ed. Colin
Gordon (New York: Pantheon, 1980); Anthony Giddens, The Constitution of Society: Outline of a
Theory of Structuration (Cambridge: Polity, 1984).

24 Mattingly, Imperialism, Power, and Identity, 208-9.

25 Rogers Brubaker and Frederick Cooper, “Beyond ‘Identity, Theory and Society 29 (2000): 1-47,
see 5: “What is problematic is not that a particular term is used, but how it is used.” For an in-
sightful discussion on the potential and problems of the use of identity in Roman archaeology,
see Martin Pitts, “The Emperors New Clothes? The Utility of Identity in Roman Archaeology,”
American Journal of Archaeology 111, no. 4 (2007): 693-713.

26 Brubaker and Cooper, “Beyond ‘Identity,’” 6-8.

27 It also remains the case that Brubaker and Coopers rejection of the term “identity” is far from
accepted within the social sciences in general, see inter alia Richard Jenkins, Social Identity, 3rd
ed. (Fondon: Routledge, 2008).

28 Here I must acknowledge that other contributors to this volume are far more expert than I in
researching material culture across a wide range of artifact types. My analysis of the shortcom-
ings of some of the traditional approaches to artifactual studies is not intended as a criticism of
their work, but rather an observation on a lack of critical rigor in the field more generally. As is
apparent from the papers presented in this volume, there is a commendable engagement with
new agendas among the contributors.

29 Arjun Appadurai, ed., The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1986); Chris Gosden, Archaeology of Colonialism: Cultural Con-
tact from 5000 BC to the Present (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004); Chris Gosden
and Yvonne Marshall, “The Cultural Biography of Objects,” World Archaeology 31, no. 2 (1999):
169-78.

30 Jeremy Evans, “Material Approaches to the Identification of Different Romano-British Site
Types,” in Britons and Romans: Advancing an Archaeological Agenda, ed. Simon James and Mar-
tin Millet (York: Council for British Archaeology, 2001), 26-35. See also Robin Fleming, “Strug-
gling to be Roman in a Former Roman Province,” in this volume.

31 R. Bruce Hitchner, “Globalization Avant la Lettre: Globalization and the History of the Roman

Identities in the Roman World: Discrepancy, Heterogeneity, Hybridity, and Plurality

Empire,” New Global Studies 2, no. 2 (2008), doi:10. 2202/1940-0004. 1034; Tamar Hodos, “Local
and Global Perspectives in the Study of Social and Cultural Identities,” in Material Culture, esp.
23-27; Martin Pitts, “Globalizing the Local in Roman Britain: An Anthropological Approach
to Social Change,” Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 27 (2008): 493-506; Robert Witcher,
“Globalisation and Roman Imperialism: Perspectives on Identities in Roman Italy,” in The Emer-
gence of State Identities in Italy in the First Millennium BC, ed. Edward Herring and Kathryn
Lomas (London: Accordia Research Institute, University of London, 2000), 213-25.

32 Martin Pitts, “Regional Identities and the Social Use of Ceramics,” in TRAC 2004: Proceedings of
the 14th Annual Theoretical Roman Archaeology Conference, Durham 2004, ed. James Bruhn, Ben
Croxford, and Dimitris Grigoropoulos (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2005), 50-64; Pitts, “Pots and
Pits: Drinking and Deposition in Late Iron Age South-East Britain,” Oxford Journal of Archaeol-
ogy 24, no. 2 (2005): 143-61; Pitts, “Consumption, Deposition and Social Practice: A Ceramic
Approach to Intra-Site Analysis in Late Iron Age to Roman Britain,” Internet Archaeology 21
(2007), doi: 10. 1 1 141/ia.2 1.2; Pitts, “Artefact Suites and Social Practice: An Integrated Approach
to Roman Provincial Linds Assemblages,” Facta: A Journal of Roman Material Culture Studies 4
(2010): 125-52; Steven Willis, “Samian Pottery: A Resource for the Study of Roman Britain and
Beyond; The Results of the English Heritage Lunded Samian Project,” Internet Archaeology 17
(2005), doi:10.11141/ia.21.2.

33 The seminal text remains James Deetz, In Small Things Forgotten: An Archaeology of Early Amer-
ican Life (New York: Doubleday, 1977).

34 “Grey literature” is the term used for archived reports, whether held in hard copy or in digital
format. The Archaeological Data Service (ADS) is a common repository for digital files (http://
archaeologydataservice.ac.uk/archives/view/greylit/). These resources are increasingly being ex-
ploited by national research programs, as in the case of a current project on Roman rural settle-
ment (http://www.reading.ac.uk/archaeology/research/roman-rural-settlement/).

35 Lindsay Allason-Jones, ed., Artefacts in Roman Britain: Their Purpose and Use (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 2011). Lor PAS, see http://finds.org/uk.

36 Hilary Cool, “An Overview of the Small Linds from Catterick,” in Cataractonium: Roman Cat-
terick and Its Hinterland; Excavations and Research, 1958-1997, ed. Peter Wilson (York: Council
for British Archaeology, 2002), 24-43; Cool, The Roman Cemetery at Brougham, Cumbria: Ex-
cavations 1966-67 (London: Roman Society, 2004); Cool, Eating and Drinking in Roman Brit-
ain (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006); Hilary Cool and M. J. Baxter, “Exploring
Romano-British Linds Assemblages,” Oxford Journal of Archaeology 21, no. 4 (2002): 363-80;
Hilary Cool and Chris Philo, eds., Roman Castleford Excavations 1974-85: Volume 1, The Small
Finds (Wakefield: West Yorkshire Archaeological Services, 1998); Nina Crummy, Colchester Ar-
chaeological Report 2: The Roman Small Finds from Excavations in Colchester 1971-9 (Colchester:
Colchester Archaeological Trust, 1983).

37 Hella Eckardt, “The Social Distribution of Roman Artefacts: The Case of Nail-Cleaners and
Brooches in Britain,” Journal of Roman Archaeology 18 (2005): 139-60; Hella Eckardt and Nina
Crummy, Styling the Body in Late Iron Age and Roman Britain: A Contextual Approach to Toilet
Instruments (Montagnac: Editions Monique Mergoil, 2008), 36.

38 Simon James, Excavations at Dura-Europos 1928-1937: Final Report 7; The Arms and Armour
and Other Military Equipment (London: British Museum, 2004). Also see James, “The ‘Roman-
ness of the Soldiers’: Barbarized Periphery or Imperial Core?,” in this volume.

David }. Mattingly

39 Thomas Grane, ed., Beyond the Roman Frontier: Roman Influences on the Northern Barbaricum
(Rome: Quasar, 2007); David J. Mattingly, ed., The Archaeology of Fazzan: Volume 1, Synthesis
(London: Society for Libyan Studies, 2003).

40 Duncan Garrow and Chris Gosden, Technologies of Enchantment? Exploring Celtic Art: 400 BC
to AD 100 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012); Duncan Garrow, Chris Gosden, and J. D.
Hill, eds., Rethinking Celtic Art (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2008); Peter Wells, Image and Response
in Early Europe (London: Duckworth, 2008).

41 Sarah Scott and Jane Webster, eds., Roman Imperialism and Provincial Art (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 2003). See also Johnston in this volume.

42 David J. Mattingly, “The Art of the Unexpected: Ghirza in the Libyan Pre-Desert,” in Numis-
matique, langues, ecriture et arts du livre, specificite des arts figures Afrique du Nord antique
et medievale, ed. Serge Lancel (Paris: CTHS, 1999), 383-405; Mattingly, “Family Values: Art
and Power at Ghirza in the Libyan Pre-Desert,” in Roman Imperialism and Provincial Art,
153-70. Cf. Paul Zanker, “Selbstdarstellung am Rand der libyschen Wiiste: Die Reliefs an den
Hauplings-Mausoleen in der Nordnekropole von Ghirza,” in Austausch und Inspiration: Kul-
turkontakt als Impuls architektonischer Innovation, ed. Felix Pirson (Mainz: Von Zabern, 2004),
214-26.

43 Like identity, ancient colonialism has attracted increased interest from classical scholars in recent
years, informed by postcolonial theory, leading to new perspectives: Michael Dietler, Archaeolo-
gies of Colonialism: Consumption, Entanglement, and Violence in Ancient Mediterranean France
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010); Michael Given, The Archaeology of the Colonized
(London: Routledge, 2004); Andrew Gardner, “Thinking about Roman Imperialism: Postcolonial-
ism, Globalization and Beyond?,” Britannia 44 (2013): 1-25; Gosden, Archaeology and Colonialism-,
Tamar Hodos, Local Responses to Colonization in the Iron Age Mediterranean (London: Routledge,
2006); Henry Hurst and Sara Owen, eds., Ancient Colonizations: Analogy, Similarity and Difference
(London: Duckworth, 2005); Claire L. Lyons and John K. Papadopoulos, eds., The Archaeology of
Colonialism (Los Angeles: Getty Research Institute, 2002); Gil Stein, ed., The Archaeology of Co-
lonial Encounters: Comparative Perspectives (Santa Fe: School of American Research Press, 2005);
Peter van Dommelen, On Colonial Grounds: A Comparative Study of Colonialism and Rural Settle-
ment in First Millennium BC West Central Sardinia (Leiden: University of Leiden, 1998).

44 The term “discrepant identity” is my elaboration on what Said called “discrepant experience,” see
Edward W. Said, Orientalism (London: Penguin, 1978) and Culture and Imperialism (London:
Vintage, 1992). See also, David J. Mattingly, “Dialogues of Power and Experience in the Roman
Empire,” in Dialogues in Roman Imperialism, 1-16 and Imperialism, Power, and Identity, 213-45.

45 Keay and Terrenato, Italy and the West; Martin Millett, The Romanization of Britain: An Essay
in Archaeological Interpretation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990); Peter Wells,
The Barbarians Speak: How the Conquered Peoples Shaped Roman Europe (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1999); Wells, How Ancient Europeans Saw the World: Vision, Patterns, and the
Shaping of the Mind in Prehistoric Times (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2012).

46 The table is a development from an idea initially explored in Imperialism, Power, and Identity, 16.

47 For a review of some of the evidence for the benign assumptions about Roman imperialism, see
Mattingly, Imperialism, Power, and Identity, 13-22; Phiroze Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial
India (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 22, 150-55.

48 A few examples from many, Edward Gibbon, The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman

Identities in the Roman World: Discrepancy, Heterogeneity, Hybridity, and Plurality

Empire, vol. 1 (1776; London: J. Murray, 1896), 78: “If a man were called upon to fix the period
in the history of the world during which the condition of the human race was most happy and
prosperous, he would, without hesitation name that which elapsed from the death of Domitian
to the accession of Commodus.” Theodor Mommsen, Provinces of the Roman Empire: The Euro-
pean Provinces (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1968), 4: “Seldom has the government of
the world been conducted for so long in an orderly sequence. [ . . .] In its sphere, which those who
belonged to it were not far wrong in regarding as the world, it fostered the peace and prosperity
of the many nations united under its sway longer and more completely than any other leading
power has ever done.” Francis Haverfield, The Romanization of Roman Britain, 3rd ed. (Oxford:

Clarendon, 1915), 10: “The men of the Empire wrought for the betterment and the happiness of
the world.” Albert Rivet, Town and Country in Roman Britain (London: Hutchinson’s University
Library, 1958), 78:“For success was only achieved when the garrisons could be withdrawn, the
forts dismantled and the local inhabitants be left to settle down to sensible Roman life in towns.”

John Wacher, ed., The Roman World, 2 vols. (London: Routledge, 1987), 1:12: “The endurance of
the Roman Empire is one of the success stories of history. That it survived so long is a sign of its
principal achievement, whereby a heterogeneous mixture of races and creeds were induced to
settle down together in a more or less peaceful way under the Pax Romana .”

49 Mattingly, Imperialism, Power, and Identity, 18-20.

50 Kent Flannery and Joyce Marcus, The Creation of Inequality: How Our Prehistoric Ancestors Set
the Stage for Monarchy, Slavery, and Empire (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2012), espe-
cially 341-544 on kingdoms and empires.

51 Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett, The Spirit Level: Why Equality is Better for Everyone (Lon-
don: Penguin, 2010).

52 See for example, Vasunia, Classics and Colonial India, 157-91 on the employment of classical
architecture in India; James Morris, Pax Britannica (London: Penguin, 1968), 177-213 on ar-
chitecture in London and India. See also Richard Hingley, ed., Images of Rome: Perceptions of
Ancient Rome in Europe and the United States in the Modern Age (Portsmouth: Journal of Roman
Archaeology, 2001); Hingley, Roman Officers and English Gentlemen: The Imperial Origins of
Roman Archaeology (London: Routledge, 2000).

53 Rebecca Redfern, “A Bioarchaeological Investigation of Cultural Change in Dorset, England
(Mid-to-Late Fourth Century BC to the End of the Fourth Century AD),” Britannia 39 (2008):

161-91. Rebecca Redfern and Sharon DeWitte, “A New Approach to the Study of Romanization
in Britain: A Regional Perspective of Cultural Change in Late Iron Age and Roman Dorset Using
the Siler and Gompertz-Makeham Models of Mortality” American Journal of Physical Anthro-
pology 144, no. 2 (2011): 269-85.

54 Redfern and DeWitte, “A New Approach,” 278-79: “The age patterns of mortality within the late
Iron Age and Romano-British samples, as revealed by the Siler model parameter estimates, suggest
that Romanization had deleterious effects on the age groups that are typically the most vulnerable,
i.e., very young children and the elderly. [. . .] Following the Roman conquest, men were apparently
at significantly higher risks of dying than women. This finding questions many traditional and
often implicit assumptions about Romanization and life in the Roman Empire, fundamentally that
this cultural change and social environment would be more advantageous for men.”

55 We are just returning to such issues, despite interest in these themes 40 years ago, Marcel Bena-
bou, La resistance africaine a la romanisation (Paris: Maspero, 1976), D. M. Pippidi, ed., Assimila-
tion et resistance a la culture Greco-romaine dans le monde ancient (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1976).

David }. Mattingly

56 On Roman funerary practices see inter alia, Maureen Carroll, Spirits of the Dead: Roman Fu-
nerary Commemoration in Western Europe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006); Richard
Jones, “Burial Customs of Rome and the Provinces,” in The Roman World, 2:812-37; Ian Mor-
ris, Death-Ritual and Social Structure in Classical Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1992); Jocelyn Toynbee, Death and Burial in the Roman World (London: Thames and
Hudson, 1971). The regional complexity and the use of funerary ritual to express aspects of
identity is more evident in Valerie Hope, Constructing Identity: The Roman Funerary Monuments
of Aquileia, Mainz and Nimes (Oxford: British Archaeological Reports, 2001); John Pearce, Mar-
tin Millett, and Manuela Struck, eds., Burial, Society and Context in the Roman World (Oxford:
Oxbow Books, 2000); Lea Stirling and David Stone, eds., Mortuary Landscapes of North Africa
(Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2007).

57 Adrian Goldsworthy and Ian Haynes, eds., The Roman Army as a Community (Portsmouth:
Journal of Roman Archaeology, 1999); Simon James, “Soldiers and Civilians: Identity and In-
teraction in Roman Britain,” in Britons and Romans: Advancing an Archaeological Agenda, ed.
Simon James and Martin Millett (York: Council for British Archaeology, 2001), 77-89. Cf. Mat-
tingly, Imperial Possession, 16-224; Imperialism, Power, and Identity, 220-36. See also James,
“The ‘Romanness of the Soldiers,’” in this volume. Interestingly, the distinctive package of mate-
rial culture associated with the army is extraordinarily widespread in the Roman world — indeed
it is one of the factors underlying the evolution of the idea of a Romanization process, though we
now recognize it as something much more focused on a specific minority group within imperial
society, rather than a sign of a general pattern of cultural change.

58 Geoff W. Adams and Rebecca Tobler, Romano-British Tombstones between the P‘ and 3rd Cen-
turies AD: Epigraphy, Gender and Familial Relations (Oxford: British Archaeological Reports,
2007).

59 David J. Mattingly, “Urbanism, Epigraphy and Identity in the Towns of Britain under Roman
Rule,” in A Roman Miscellany: Essays in Honour of Anthony R. Birley on His 70th Birthday, ed. H.
M. Schellenberg, V. E. Hirschmann, and A. Krieckhaus (Gdansk: Department of Archaeology,
Gdansk University, 2008), 53-71.

60 Peter van Dommelen, “Colonial Constructs: Colonialism and Archaeology in the Mediterra-
nean,” World Archaeology 28, no. 3 (1997): 305-23; Van Dommelen, “Ambiguous Matters: Colo-
nialism and Local Identities in Punic Sardinia,” in The Archaeology of Colonialism, 121-47; Van
Dommelen, “Colonial Interactions and Hybrid Practices: Phoenician and Carthaginian Settle-
ment in the Ancient Mediterranean,” in Archaeology of Colonial Encounters, 109-41.

6 1 Terrenato highlights what he sees as modernizing tendencies of those who would like to com-
pare the Roman Empire with other empires, whether this comparison was done in the nine-
teenth century or in the postcolonial age, arguing for the uniqueness of the Roman Empire.
Terrenato, “The Deceptive Archetype: Roman Colonialism in Italy and Postcolonial Thought,”
in Ancient Colonizations, 59-72; cf. also his “The Cultural Implications of the Roman Conquest,”
in Roman Europe, ed. Edward Bispham (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 234-64. But
attempting to disallow comparative study of empire informed by postcolonial approaches, while
effectively ignoring the extent to which the conceptual framing of classical studies was and still is
influenced by nineteenth- and early twentieth-century comparative study is surely disingenuous.
See further Peter van Dommelen and Nicola Terrenato, “Introduction: Local Cultures and the
Expanding Roman Republic,” in Articulating Local Cultures, 7-12.

62 Held at Yale University on September 20-21, 2013, Scholars’ Day gathered the curators of Roman

Identities in the Roman World: Discrepancy, Heterogeneity, Hybridity, and Plurality

in the Provinces and contributors to this book to discuss and develop themes for the exhibition
and publication.

63 Barbara L. Stark and John K. Chance, “The Strategies of Provincials in Empires,” in The Compar-
ative Archaeology of Complex Societies, ed. Michael E. Smith (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 2012), 192-237. Cf. also, Jane Webster, “Archaeologies of Slavery and Servitude: Bringing
‘New World’ Perspectives to Roman Britain,” Journal of Roman Archaeology 18 (2005): 161-79.

64 Sen, Identity and Violence, esp. 20-28.

65 Ibid., 30.

66 Hugo Gryn, Chasing Shadows: Memories of a Vanished World (London: Viking, 2000), 6.

67 Eric Rebillard, Christians and Their Many Identities in Late Antiquity: North Africa 200-450 CE
(Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2012); Conant, Staying Roman.

68 For a recent new study of this fascinating tombstone, see Maureen Carroll, ‘“The Insignia of
Women: Dress, Gender and Identity on the Roman Funerary Monument of Regina from Arbe-
ia ’’Archaeological Journal 169 (2012): 281-311.

69 Ginette Di Vita-Evrard, Sergio Fontana, and Luisa Musso, “Leptis Magna: Une tombe exemplaire
du haut-empire,” in Monuments funeraires, institutions autochtones en Afrique du nord antique
et medievale, ed. Pol Trousset (Paris: CTHS, 1995), 153-78; Di Vita-Evrard et al., “L’ipogeo dei
Flavi a Leptis Magna presso Gasr Gelda,” Libya Antiqua, n.s., 2 (1996): 85-133; Sergio Fontana,
“Lepcis Magna: The Romanization of a Major African City through Burial Evidence,” in Italy and
the West, 161-72.

70 Fontana, “Lepcis Magna,” 167.

71 Joyce M. Reynolds and John B. Ward-Perkins, eds., The Inscriptions of Roman Tripolitania (IRT)
(Rome: British School at Rome, 1952), IRT 729 (Qasr Duirat); Fontana, “Lepcis Magna,” 168-69
citing Q. Domitius Camillus Nysim ( IRT 692); Q. Caecilius Cerialis Phiscon (IRT 673); C. Cal-
purnius Tracachalus Dosiedes (IRT 677).

72 For Britain, see in particular, Mattingly, Imperial Possession-, for Africa, see some preliminary
thoughts in my Imperialism, Power, and Identity. The African case study was the subject of my
2013 Jerome Lectures and will be prepared in due course for publication.

73 Anna L. Boozer, Housing Empire: The Archaeology of Daily Life in Roman Amheida, Egypt (New
York: Columbia University Press, 2013).

74 Indeed, there are already a number of excellent studies that pick up on the plural identities ex-
pressed through the site’s remarkable material record, see inter alia Patricia DeLeeuw, “A Peace-
ful Pluralism: The Durene Mithraeum, Synagogue, and Christian Building”; Lucinda Dirven,
“Strangers and Sojourners: The Religious Behavior of Palmyrenes and Other Foreigners in Du-
ra-Europos,” both in Crossroads of Antiquity, 189-99 and 201-20.

75 Andrea Giardina and Fabrizio Pesando, eds., Roma Caput Mundi: Una citta tra dominio e inte-
grazione, exh. cat. (Milan: Electa, 2012), 33-34; see also Andrew Wallace-Hadrill, “Romanizzazi-
on,” in ibid., 111-16.

76 Cf. Catharine Edwards and Greg Woolf, Rome the Cosmopolis (Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press, 2003).

iiMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMii

Household Objects and Social Memories
in Roman Spain and Gaul

Andrew C. Johnston

One finds it often asserted in modern scholarship that in their effacement of identity and
the erasure of their traditions, the inhabitants of the western provinces of the empire “were
distinctive among the emperors’ subjects in being only Roman.”1 This essay endeavors to
problematize this idea, and to show, on the contrary, that in the provinces, becoming or
“being Roman” — whether by this we mean the acquisition of citizenship or the participa-
tion in certain cultural practices — did not preclude the felt sense of being something quite
different, of belonging to other and more subjectively meaningful local communities. This
analysis of the negotiation of local identities within the western Roman imperial world
seeks to move the discussion beyond an outmoded emphasis on processes of “Romaniza-
tion” and “resistance” or on quantifications of “Romanness,” a cultural monolith that is in
itself an illusory and anachronistic concept. I will focus on a handful of fascinating, under-
appreciated small finds from across Roman Spain and Gaul, remarkable but representative
household objects that afford a window into how the inhabitants of these provinces situated
and remembered themselves in an imperial world. By “household” objects, I here mean
portable, non-monumental works in metal — bronze or silver — that would have been kept,
displayed, and interacted with primarily in private, domestic contexts rather than in pub-
lic. Through these five case studies, which place these artifacts in their cultural historical
contexts, this essay offers a new approach to understanding local identities in the Roman
West and the importance of social memory — an expression of collective experience that
identifies a group, giving it a sense of its past and helping to define its aspirations for the
future — in the construction and expression thereof.2

SUCELLUS

Our first case study takes us to the city of Vienna (Vienne, France) in the province of Gal-
lia Narbonensis (see map, p. v). Originally a settlement of the people of the Allobroges, its
advantageous situation on the Rhone at the confluence with the Gere made it a gateway to
northern Gaul, and attracted Roman merchants in great numbers already in the first half of
the first century BCE. Economic, social, and cultural anxieties seem to have resulted in the
expulsion of Romans from Vienna in 61 BCE during the brief uprising of the Allobroges, led
by their chieftain Catugnatus. But tensions soon subsided; by the Augustan period, the city
had been granted the honorific status of a colonia, and by the middle of the first century CE

Andrew C. Johnston

the emperor Claudius could cite Vienna as an exemplum of a once-foreign place that now
admirably participated in the rights and responsibilities of Roman citizenship.3 Vienna is thus
representative of the compelling complexities that characterized many provincial commu-
nities of the empire: it was increasingly integrated in political and economic networks that
connected it with Rome and the wider Mediterranean, while retaining an appreciation of
distinctiveness and local identity informed by memories of its Roman and pre-Roman pasts.

It was here that, in 1866, a construction project near the
ancient site of the Roman theater fortuitously uncovered a cache
of artifacts from the mid-imperial period, the most important
of which were two bronze statuettes of a male divinity.4 One was
ultimately acquired by the Walters Art Museum in Baltimore
(fig. 4.1), the other by the British Museum.5 The former — a
bearded, well-muscled figure — strikes a pose recognizably
influenced by Greek artistic traditions, with a hipshot, almost
Polykleitan, stance. He is nude but for a wolf skin wrapped
around his shoulders, its forepaws tied at his sternum; the pelt
covers his head, leaving visible only a few locks of hair that
frame his Zeus-like face, and falls across the upper part of his
outstretched left arm, its hind legs and tail dangling behind his
back. His left hand gripped the haft of a long mallet, now lost,
while in his extended right hand he holds an olla (small jar). But
the most remarkable element of this statuette is the object that
rises up from behind the figure: a huge mallet, with five smaller
mallets radiating out from the head. Although this figure of the
“mallet god” has been subject to a series of “Romanizing” (mis)
identifications since its discovery — Hercules, Jupiter, Dispater,
Silvanus — the scholarly consensus is now that the statue rep-
resents the divinity Sucellus, whose name in the Gaulish lan-
guage means — fittingly, given that his conventional primary
attribute is the oversized mallet — “the Good Striker.”6 The case
for this identification is strengthened by, among other evidence,
votive altars from Gaul, on which a god of similar iconography
is explicitly named in the inscription as Sucellus.7

The other Sucellus from the Vienna hoard, which now resides
in the collection of the British Museum (fig. 4.2), is represented with many of the same attri-
butes as the first: an olla in the outstretched right hand, and a long-hafted mallet (now lost)
gripped in the left; a full beard and long hair with articulated locks, again partly cloaked by
a wolf skin, a feature which clearly evokes the lion skin of Hercules. There are, however, sig-
nificant differences between the two bronzes. This second figure is not in the style of a heroic
nude, but rather is clothed in the traditional local costume, consisting of a tight-fitting, thigh-
length check-patterned tunic with sleeves, worn over similarly-patterned pantaloons, topped
off by what appears to be a sagum, a typical cloak of the peoples of Gaul. Moreover, the detail
and proportions of this Sucellus, whose classical stance recalls that of his larger counterpart,
are somewhat less masterfully executed. On stylistic grounds, both figures probably date to
the late first or early second century CE. Given that the indigenous Sucellus was almost cer-
tainly not the subject of figural representation until after the Roman conquest, these images
partake of the invention of tradition, capitalizing on a shared consciousness of and desired
continuity with a collective past, and imbuing this past with a ritual and symbolic function
in the present.8

Although it has been frequently repeated in scholarship that the trove of objects to
which these statuettes belonged was found in the lararium of a Roman house, the original

4.1. Bronze statuette of Sucellus, ist-2nd
century CE, Vienne. Walters Art Museum,
Baltimore, 54.998.

Household Objects and Social Memories in Roman Spain and Gaul

archaeological context is, in fact, uncertain, in light of the circumstances of its incidental
discovery.9 But it is a plausible hypothesis that these bronzes had at one time in the second
century CE belonged to the shrine of a household, or perhaps of a professional corporation,
at Vienna; comparanda for the presence of such figurines in domestic ritual contexts are
known from various parts of early imperial Gaul.10 Thus it seems that a member — or mem-
bers, across multiple generations — of the municipal elite of Vienna commissioned these
works in bronze from two different artists for the purpose of private display and devo-
tion, and that the two versions of the god may have been intended to complement one
another. Other residents of Vienna of a lower social status
expressed their veneration of the god in different ways, but
with a similarly local audience in mind: a stone stela, prob-
ably intended for use as a funerary monument, was found
near the so-called “House of Sucellus” in the residential quar-
ter on the right bank of the Rhone (Saint-Romain-en-Gal)
with a comparatively crude but recognizable representation
of Sucellus, dedicated by a small-time tradesman ( sarcitor )
called Atticus.11 While the devotees who commissioned the
bronzes chose to align themselves with “classical” modes of
viewing and particular patterns of conspicuous consump-
tion shared by a larger Roman imperial cultural koine, these
Sucellus statues nevertheless reflect the construction and
performance of a distinctly local identity, aspects of which
would have been unintelligible to those outsiders at Vienna
who were not conversant in the local cultural vocabulary.

A contemporary literary source may illuminate, or at
least approximate, the texture of some of these Narbonen-
sian conversations. In his “introductory discourse” Heracles,
the second-century CE Greek writer Lucian relates an anec-
dote in which he, while sojourning in Gaul, found himself
pondering a strange painting of what appeared to him to be
Hercules, whom he claims the locals call in their native lan-
guage “Ogmios.” Although some superficial elements of the
iconography of this “Hercules” are intelligible to Lucian, like
his club and lion- skin, the hero is otherwise unrecognizable:
he is old and dark-skinned, with only wisps of white hair left on his balding head, and, most
surprising of all, he drags behind him a great throng of men whose ears are chained to his
own tongue and who seemingly follow him with great eagerness. As Lucian stands at a loss
as to how to interpret the scene, a local wise man approaches him and, in remarkably good
Greek, explicates its meaning: his people connect eloquence not with Hermes, as the Greeks
do, but with this Hercules-Ogmios. As “eloquence personified,” the god is depicted as an old
man because this is the age where the art of speaking reaches its perfection, and the chains
that bind the ears of the men to the tongue of the god thus represent a visual metaphor of
the power of persuasion.12

It has been suggested recently that we are to identify Lucians philosophizing interlocutor
as none other than his sophistic counterpart from Arelate (Arles), Lavorinus, with whom
he may actually have conversed during a visit to Gallia Narbonensis, or, more likely, whose
writings were reworked by Lucian in order to stage a Active and allusive literary encounter.13
But regardless of the exact inspiration for the conversation related in this text, it possesses
a certain verisimilitude, allowing us to “eavesdrop” on discourses of identity that are other-
wise difficult to discern, given the nature of our evidence. Particularly important about the
story told by Lucian is that behind the superficial syncretism of Ogmios with Hercules actu-

4.2. Bronze statuette of Sucellus, ist-2nd century
CE, Vienne. British Museum, London, 1894,0507.

Andrew C. Johnston

ally lies a meaningful and deep-seated rhetoric of difference, an act of remembering rather
than forgetting. Ogmios carries a couple of Hercules’s token items, but for local viewers he
is unequivocally not the Greek hero, in the same way that, although a casual glance at the
attributes or countenance or posture of Sucellus might suggest to an outsiders eye Hercules
or Zeus or Silvanus, on closer inspection the god ultimately frustrates all of these interpreta-
tions. As responses to Roman power, these kinds of images— and the irrecoverable narratives
and mythologies that were presumably constructed about their subjects— were discursive
statements that engaged with imperial artistic and religious grammars in order, ultimately, to
display a highly negotiated localism.14

Sucellus was prominent throughout southern Gaul, and though sometimes conflated
on Narbonensian monuments with the Roman Silvanus, he maintained a distinctive per-
sonality.15 He is implicitly invoked through his reper-
toire of symbols (usually olla and mallet, often together
with trees and a dog) on anepigraphic altars lacking
anthropomorphic representations, and explicitly rep-
resented in stone and bronze both at the other major
urban centers near Vienna like Glanum (Saint- Re my-
de-Provence), Nemausus (Nimes), Vasio (Vaison-la-Ro-
maine), and Arelate, and in the hinterland at sites like
Orpierre (fig. 4.3). 16 The iconography of Sucellus as well
as the diverse style and medium of his representation
suggest room for significant local innovation and varia-
tion even within this region, as seems to have been the
case further north and west of the Rhone valley among
the Aedui, Lingones, and Arverni, where attributes
relating to viticulture and wine consumption frequently
occur alongside the typical mallet. But it was in and
around Vienna where his cult seems to have had per-
haps the most vibrancy and longevity.17 A votive altar
dedicated to deus Sucellus by a woman with a Roman
name, Gellia Iucunda, has been dated as late as the
fourth century CE,18 and the image of Sucellus is found
on a series of decorative ceramic medallions, a genre
popular in the valley of the Rhone, including Vienna,
during the late second and early third centuries CE.
Herein he is depicted with the iconography character-
istic of the bronze statuettes or stone reliefs — bearded,
with the olla in his outstretched right hand and the mallet in his left, flanked by a small tree
and accompanied by a dog — and is explicitly identified by an exclamatory, wishful legend:
Sucellum propitium nobis (“Sucellus, be gracious unto us!”).19 Sucellus is, in fact, the only
indigenous divinity to be included on these medallions, the mythological scenes of which
are predominantly Greek; this suggests the continually renegotiated importance of Sucellus
to the local elite of Vienna and its territory, even as they came increasingly to participate
in the cultural inheritance of the imperial center. The ultimate motivations behind these
kinds of cultural choices and the exact valences of the god Sucellus for the people of Vienna,
either individually in the expressions of their personal devotion or as a collective in the
construction of a community identity, remain obscure. But it is remarkable that the cult of
this divinity continued to compete successfully in the pluralistic “religious marketplace” of
the Roman world long into the imperial period.20

The bronze statuettes of Sucellus that we have examined embody the complexities of
local social memories among the Allobroges of Vienna, the importance of which ought

4.3. Bronze statuette of Sucellus, ist-2nd century
CE, Orpierre (Haute-Alpes). Musee d’Archeologie
nationale, Saint-Germain-en-Laye, 58257.

Household Objects and Social Memories in Roman Spain and Gaul

not to be understated. Pliny the Elder, the Roman encyclopedist of the mid-first century
CE, claimed that, already in his day, Narbonensis was “in the cultivation of its fields, in the
reputation of its men and manners, in the abundance of its resources... more truly Italy
than a province.”21 Modern appropriation of this contemporary Roman mentality, which is
informed by a problematic set of imperial rhetorical tropes, has contributed in large part
to the prevailing thread in scholarship that has tended to emphasize the “Romanization” of
Narbonensis and the provincials’ “forgetfulness,” at the expense of telling other tales about
local communities and identities.22 But Sucellus at Vienna is a salutary reminder of the lim-
its of these kinds of historical models and narratives.

Genius Cucullatus

We are confronted with similar challenges in a bronze figurine
in the collection of the Yale University Art Gallery (plate 175),
which probably also belonged to a domestic cult. This is one of
the most extraordinary images of the enigmatic divinity conven-
tionally known by the Latin name genius cucullatus (“hooded
spirit”), an appellation attested in antiquity only on a pair of vo-
tive altars found at Wabelsdorf, Austria, in the Roman province
of Noricum.23 The god, whose defining iconographic features are,
in general, his small stature and the pointed cowl ( cucullus ) and
cloak, is otherwise vexingly anonymous, although diverse rep-
resentations of him — sometimes with the additional attributes
of a phallus, egg, or scroll — are found throughout the Roman
provinces of Britain, Gaul, and Germany.24 This particular statu-
ette, the exact provenance of which is unknown, had been, until
recently, variously interpreted as a work of early classical or late
Hellenistic Greece; but it has now been convincingly argued on
stylistic and technical grounds that it ought rather to be placed in
the context of the western Roman provinces of the second cen-
tury CE.25 It represents a squat, bearded male figure, enveloped
by a long cloak — inlaid with copper to suggest a pattern — that
culminates in an exaggeratedly tall, pointed hood; underneath
are visible the contours of his arms, one of which holds the cloak
together at his chest, while the other nestles horizontally at his
waist. Their shape gives the vague suggestion that his hands,
especially the left, may grasp unknown objects — possibly the
characteristic scroll or egg — hidden under his overgarment. He
wears a pair of leather boots, his only other discernible attribute.

One of the earliest and most instructive parallels for this
figure appears on several issues of silver coinage dated to the
period immediately following the Roman conquest (around the third quarter of the first
century BCE), minted by the civitas of the Segusiavi, whose territory was situated in cen-
tral Gaul just northwest of that of the Allobroges (fig. 4. 4). 26 On the reverse of this series is
depicted, standing at left, a nude, muscular, bearded male figure holding a club in his right
hand with an animal skin draped over his left arm; under his right arm is the legend ARVS,
probably the name of a local dynast responsible for this coinage. At right, on a pedestal or
altar, stands a shorter male figure — sometimes identified as a wooden idol — wrapped in a
patterned ankle-length cloak that conceals his entire body, with a hood gathered around
his neck; he wears boots underneath the cloak. This image thus seems to show the genius
cucullatus as an object of cult, and the apparent relationship with the other figure — possibly

4.4. Silver coin (reverse) of the civitas of the
Segusiavi, c. 50-25 BCE. British Museum,
London, 1901,0503.235.

4.5. Silver denarius (reverse) of C. Antius
Resto, 47 BCE, Rome. British Museum,
London, R.8904.

Andrew C. Johnston

Hercules or a local divinity with similar attributes — hints at an underly-
ing but obscure mythology We are afforded a rare glimpse into dynamics
surrounding the creation of this scene by the fact that it was demonstra-
bly adapted from a Roman silver denarius of 47 BCE (fig. 4. 5). 27 Signifi-
cant alterations were made for the local audience of the Segusiavi, most
notably the removal of visual references to Roman victory from the orig-
inal and the inclusion of the genius cucullatus. The prominence given
to this divinity, presumably chosen from a wide array of available cul-
tural symbols, seems almost programmatic, especially on coinage that
is a direct reaction to Rome, both chronologically and iconographically,
and suggests its importance to the self-representation of the civitas of the
Segusiavi, or at least to members of the elite. This kind of response — the
articulation and assertion of community memory through a new visual
medium — was more common in the western provinces than is sometimes
realized; it is broadly similar, for example, to the reaffirmation of local
identity and cosmologies in the strikingly independent iconography of
post-conquest pottery at the Celtiberian city of Numantia in the province
of Nearer Spain.28

In comparison to the other known representations of the genius cuc-
ullatus from Gaul and Britain, the Yale bronze figurine is remarkably
classicizing (so much so that it was commonly misidentified as a work
of fifth-century Greece), rivaled in this respect by only a very small num-
ber of other Gallic bronzes of the early imperial period, such as those
known from the territory of the Ambiani or Treveri.29 Most cucullati —
stone reliefs or sculptures in the round — demonstrate a greater degree of
independence from Mediterranean artistic ideals: they tend to be highly
schematic and minimalist, with little attention to the kind of realism and detail that we
find in this work.30 Indeed, one of the most telling foils for this piece is another cucullatus
found in Narbonensis at Moulezan, near Nemausus in the country of the Volcae Arecomici
(fig. 4.6): apart from the shared identifying attributes of the full-length cloak and cowl, this
stone figurine bears little resemblance to its bronze cousin.31 Like the statues of Sucellus,
then, our finely executed representation of the genius cucullatus is a fascinating hybrid of
the local and the imperial. Its subject hearkens back to a pre-conquest past, activating a
nexus of memories, meanings, and associations of the kind projected some two centuries
earlier on non-Roman coinage of central Gaul, while its form usurps classicizing elements,
a choice — a statement within a field of positions — likely driven by competition between
elites or cultic communities. The simple but significant fact that modern scholars have long
struggled to make sense of even the basic identity and function of the divinity demonstrates
the degree to which the genius cucullatus was part of a quintessential^ local discourse, an
insiders’ conversation conducted in terms self-consciously left untranslated. In the end,
the cloak of the figurine is an apt metaphor for the interpretive difficulties that it presents:
local viewers must have “remembered” what was concealed underneath, while it remains
impenetrable to our inquiring gaze.

Bandua Araugelensis

Let us turn our attention now from Gaul to the Iberian Peninsula, and to a remarkable silver
patera (shallow bowl for pouring libations), dated to the late second or early third century CE
and probably originating from the settlement of Castellum Araocelum (Sao Cosmado, Portu-
gal) in the north-central region of the province of Lusitania (fig. 4.7).32 On the base of the bowl
is an engraved scene, at the center of which stands an impressionistically rendered female fig-

4.6. Limestone statuette of a
genius cucullatus, 1st century
BCE-ist century CE, Moulezan
(Card). Musee Archeologique de
NTmes.

Household Objects and Social Memories in Roman Spain and Gaul

ure, wearing a turreted crown and clothed
in a flowing garment that drapes over
her left arm. In her left hand she holds a
cornucopia, and in her right she extends
a patera over a pair of burning altars; two
other altars are shown in the landscape be-
hind her, along with a rocky outcropping
and the gnarled trunk of a tree. The figure
thus appears to be in the act of performing
a ritual at an open-air sanctuary. Around
this circular scene is inscribed, as a kind of
label, the legend BAND • ARAVG, which
is to be interpreted as a reference to the
Lusitanian goddess Bandua, in her specific
manifestation as tutelary divinity of Ara-
ocelum (Bandua Araugelensis).33 Bandua
is attested in inscriptions throughout this
region in her capacity as the divine em-
bodiment or protectress of various ethnic

communities, her name always being followed either by an adjectival epithet (e.g., Bandua
Ituiciensis), as on this patera from Araocelum, or by a local genitive plural ethnonym (e.g.,
Bandua Roudeaecom, Vordeaecom, Oilineaicom, Veigebreaegom, Cadogom).34 This goddess
is thus rather unique in her essential, inextricable connection to the identity of these com-

4.7. Silver bowl for Band(ua) Araugel(ensis). Museo Arqueologico
Provincial de Badajoz.

munities. There are no dedications simply to “Bandua.” Each invocation of her divinity by the
dedicants, whose inscriptions reflect a heterogeneous mix of social and civic statuses, inevita-
bly implicates a competitive differentiation from other groups of worshippers, a flaunting of
an almost hyper-localism.

At the same time, this kind of strategic claim to localism, several centuries after the
Roman conquest, clearly does not amount to “primitivism,” nor does it imply “resistance”
to the cultural influences of the wider Roman world.35 Performances of local community

or ethnic identities — “being Araugelensis,” in this case — were not incongruous or incom-
patible with an emulous appropriation and rearticulation of imperial symbols. Despite the
decidedly Lusitanian inspiration and orientation of this vessel’s message, the iconography
of the goddess Bandua — particularly the mural crown, patera, and cornucopia — assimi-
lates her visually to conventional Hellenistic representations of Tyche, and to those Roman
images which had, in turn, been derived therefrom, especially of Fortuna and of the (albeit
male) genius populi Romani or genius coloniae .36 One would not normally speak in the same
breath of the minor hillfort of Araocelum and great cosmopolitan city of Antioch, situated
at opposite ends of the Mediterranean and products of widely discrepant experiences of
Roman imperialism. But empire has here brought their cultural trajectories to a point of
convergence where their patron goddesses — Greek Tyche and Lusitanian Bandua — might
be, in some sense, mutually intelligible.

Tessera Hospitalis

To complicate further this picture of Roman Spain, on a zoomorphic bronze plaque discov-
ered at Herrera de Pisuerga, in the remote mountainous region of ancient Cantabria, we
find evidence of regional social networks operating independently of Roman power, rather
than of interconnectedness across the vast expanse of the empire (fig. 4.8). On both sides of
this boar-shaped token was inscribed, in Latin, a local treaty of friendship, dated precisely
to August 1, 14 CE. Judging from the nail-holes driven through it, this tessera hospitalis

Andrew C. Johnston

(“token of guest-friendship”) was displayed on a
wall, presumably in the home of one of the parties,
so as to be readily legible. The text of the obverse
runs as follows:

On the first day of August, in the year when
Sex. Pompeius and Sex. Appuleius are con-
suls. The magistrates Caraegius and Aburnus
and Caelio and the senate of the Maggavi-
enses grant honorary citizenship to Am-
paramus, of [the clan of] the Nemaioqum of
the town of Cusabura, so that his children
and descendants might enjoy all of the same
rights in the territory of the Maggavienses as
a citizen of the Maggavienses.37

The reverse reiterates the terms, from the point
of view of the second party, Amparamus. Formal
guest-friendship as a cultural practice was deeply
embedded in the societies of the Iberian Peninsu-
la, and proof of its continued, if renegotiated, im-
portance under Roman rule is widespread: over 20
of these documents with inscriptions in Tatin are
known from the early imperial period (the latest
is dated to 185 CE), while many others, written in
local Iberian languages, probably date to the late
second and early first centuries BCE.38 The earlier
examples often take the form of animals, as here, which seem traditionally to have had a
totemic significance for the community, based in part on the correspondence in several
cases between the iconography of tesserae hospitales and of pre-Roman coinage. Many of
these documents of the Roman period record the renewal of ancestral friendships, in one
case between two “clans” {gentilitates ) reaching back well over a century, and illuminate the
workings of social memory across several generations of a family or community.39

Apart from the consular dating formula and the use of Latin, with the translation of
some indigenous terms into approximate Roman equivalents ( senatus for the local aris-
tocracy and magistratus for its leaders), the social and cultural landscape revealed in this
bronze from Herrera de Pisuerga, like many of the comparanda, is preponderantly local.
The names borne, the territories circumscribed, the ethnic and kinship group memberships
asserted, even the citizenship to which contemporary and future prestige is attached are
non-Roman. From these exchanges of symbolic capital between Cantabrian elites, Rome is
noticeably absent. One must wonder what “being Roman” might have meant for Ampara-
mus, member of the Nemaioqum clan, resident of Cusabura, native of the Cantabri, now
honorary citizen among the Maggavienses, how Rome might have been integrated into his
complex network of identities. As other tesserae of northern Spain suggest, this bronze boar
would have preserved the memory of this complexity for his descendants whose rights are
guaranteed in the text, maybe including even the same “Doviderus, son of Amparamus”
who calls himself “chief of the Cantabri” ( princeps Cantabrorum ) in an inscription recently
discovered in the region.40

4.8. Bronze tessera hospitalis in the shape of a boar, 14 CE,
Herrera de Pisuerga. Castillo de Ampudia, Palencia.

Household Objects and Social Memories in Roman Spain and Gaul

Sostomagus Rhetor

The final object that I would like to examine by way of conclusion
transmits a memory of a markedly different variety. It is a small or-
namental bronze, 14 cm in height, of a somewhat crudely- wrought
togate male figure, seated on a stool in the traditional posture of a Ro-
man schoolmaster (rhetor); the figure rests upon a cube-shaped base
(fig. 4.9). This object was uncovered in excavations of an apsidal do-
mestic building on a rural villa site at Fendeille, near the ancient town
of Sostomagus (Castelnaudary), which lay on the important route
through southwestern Gaul between Tolosa (Toulouse) and Narbo
(Narbonne).41 The piece can be dated roughly to late third century
CE.42 In his right hand the rhetor holds a small vessel, while in his
left he displays an open book, on which the Tatin words quis primus
(“who first...”) can be discerned. Although imprecise, the phrase may
be a reference to the widely read Naturalis Historia of Pliny the Elder,
an encyclopedic work much concerned with the documentation of
historical “firsts.”43 There is a second inscription on the front face of
the base of the statuette, more immediately recognizable: “The words
of Cicero: How long will you take advantage of our patience, Catil-
ine...” This famous line comprises the opening of Ciceros first oration
against the conspirator Lucius Sergius Catilina, delivered in early No-
vember of the tumultuous year in which Cicero was consul, 63 BCE.44

From the time when the Romans first came into close contact with
them in Transpadane Italy, oratory had been associated with the Gauls,
whose supposedly changeable and volatile natures— from the ethno-
graphic point of view of Greek and Roman observers — rendered them
particularly susceptible to its power. Under the early empire, Gallic
orators flourished in their adoptive Latin tongue; public speaking was reclaimed as a site of
competition between elites, and skill therein became a prominent part of their self-fashion-
ing. After the turmoil of the mid-third century, during which the long-established Maenian
school of rhetoric at Augustodunum (Autun), capital of the Aedui, had been temporarily
closed, there was a revival of oratorical education in Gaul. Orators trained at Augusta Trevero-
rum (Trier) and Burdigala (Bordeaux) now vied with those from Augustodunum for imperial
favor and social prestige.45 Situated in this context, the bronze statuette of the schoolmaster
displayed in a rural Gallic villa, holding a Latin “textbook” and poised atop the iconic words
of Romes most eloquent speaker, makes an intriguingly polyvocal statement. This appropria-
tion of memories of the Roman Republic blurs the boundaries between the imperial and the
local, similarly to the writings of contemporary Gallic orators like the anonymous panegyrists
of the Aedui or, later, the important rhetor Ausonius. Whoever the resident of this rather
modest and ordinary villa was, he typifies the complex negotiations of identity that went on
in households throughout Roman Spain and Gaul, only dimly illuminated by our evidence.
Confidently deploying the Latin literary canon in a local self-representation, he reflects — like
the individuals who commissioned the bronzes of Sucellus at Vienna, or worshipped the clas-
sicizing genius cucullatus, or poured libations to Bandua at Araocelum, or remembered pacts
of friendship among the Cantabri — the multiplicity of meanings of “being Roman,” and of
being different, in the provinces.

4.9. Bronze statuette of a rhetor, with
Latin inscriptions, late 3rd century CE,
Fendeille (Aude).

Andrew C. Johnston

1 Greg Woolf, “The Uses of Forgetfulness in Roman Gaul,” in Vergangenheit und Lebenswelt: So-
ziale Kommunikation, Traditionsbildung und historisches Bewufitsein, ed. Hans-Joachim Gehrke
and Astrid Moller (Tubingen: Gunter Narr, 1996), 361; cf. Simon Price, “Memory and Ancient
Greece,” in Historical and Religious Memory in the Ancient World, ed. Beate Dignas and R. R. R.
Smith (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 28-29.

2 See James Fentress and Chris Wickham, Social Memory (Oxford: Blackwell, 1992), 25.

3 On the expulsion of Roman merchants from Vienna by the Allobroges under Catugnatus, see
Cass. Dio 37.47-48 and 46.50, with Amable Audin, Lyon, miroir de Rome dans les Gaules (Paris:
Fayard, 1965), 25. For Vienna’s honorific title of colonia Iulia Augusta Florentia Viennensium, see
CIL 12.2327, the epitaph of a local magistrate. The fragmentary text of the emperor Claudius’s
speech, in which he mentions Vienna, is preserved on a bronze tablet from Lugdunum (Lyon),
CIL 13.1668.

4 See the original report of the finds to the Societe des Antiquaires in the summer of 1866 by All-
mer and De Witte in the Bulletin de la Societe Imperiale des Antiquaires de France (1866): 99-104,
108-10.

5 On these two statues, see most recently Annemarie Kaufmann-Heinimann, “Ikonographie und
Stil: Zu Tracht und Ausstattung einheimischer Gottheiten in den Nordwestprovinzen,” in Bronz-
es grecs et romains, recherches recentes, ed. Martine Denoyelle et al. (Paris: INHA, 2012); still
fundamentally important for the Walters Art Museum Sucellus are Dorothy Kent Hill, “Dispater
of Gaul,” Journal of the Walters Art Gallery 10 (1947): 84-89, 100; and Hill, ‘“Le Dieu au maillef
de Vienne a la Walters Art Gallery de Baltimore,” Gallia 1 1 (1953): 205-24.

6 From *su-, meaning “good; well,” and *cell-, “mallet; striker”; see Xavier Delamarre, Dictionnaire
de la Langue Gauloise (Paris: Editions Errance, 2001), s.v. “Sucellus.”

7 See e.g., CIL 13.4542, an altar set up to Sucellus and his female consort Nantosuelta by “Bellau-
sus, son of Massa” at Pons Saravi (Sarrebourg) in the province of Gallia Belgica.

8 On invented traditions, see Eric Hobsbawm, “Introduction: Inventing Traditions,” in The Inven-
tion of Tradition, ed. Eric Hobsbawm and Terence O. Ranger (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1983), 1-14.

9 This group — included in which were also two other bronze statuettes said to be of “Mercury,” the
whereabouts of which are now unknown — seems to have been buried in a wooden container,
suggesting an intentional deposition, possibly at a different location than that in which they were
used; cf. Kaufmann-Heinimann, “Ikonographie und Stil.”

10 See, for example, Gerard Coulon, “Decouverte d’un autel domestique gallo-romaine,” Archeo-
logia 218 (1986): 6-8 for an altar discovered at Argentomagus (Argenton-sur-Creuse) with
statuettes in situ. For a study of domestic altars and bronze figurines at the Roman colony of
Augusta Rauricum (Augst), northeast of Vienna, see Annemarie Kaufmann-Heinimann, Gut-
ter und Lararien aus Augusta Raurica: Herstellung, Fundzusammenhange und sakrale Funktion
figurlicher Bronzen in einer romischen Stadt (Augst: Romermuseum, 1998).

11 See CAG 69.1, 467-68. The god is depicted as a bearded, older man, clothed in a Gallic sagum
and holding the olla and mallet, with his canine companion lying at his feet.

12 Lucian, Heracles 1-5.

13 This argument, made by Eugenio Amato, “Luciano e l’anonimo filosofo celta di Hercules 4:
Proposta di identificazione,” Symbolae Osloenses 79 (2004): 128-49, has been taken up by An-

Household Objects and Social Memories in Roman Spain and Gaul

dreas Hofeneder, “Favorinus von Arleate und die keltische Religion,” Keltische Forschungen 1
(2006): 29-58.

14 On the discursive function of such images in the western Roman provinces, see Miranda Ald-
house-Green, “Alternative Iconographies: Metaphors of Resistance in Romano-British Cult-Im-
agery,” in Romanisation und Resistenz in Plastik, Architektur und Inschriften der Provinzen des
Imperium Romanum: Neue Funde und Forschungen, ed. Peter Noelke et al. (Mainz: Von Zabern,
2003), 39-48. For a recent discussion of localism in the Greek East as a response to Roman
imperialism and its attendant “globalization,” see Tim Whitmarsh, “Thinking Local,” in Local
Knowledge and Microidentities in the Imperial Greek World (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 2010), 1-16.

15 See Stephanie Boucher, Recherches sur les bronzes figures de Gaule pre-romaine et romaine (Rome:
Ecole fran<;aise de Rome, 1976), 169; Boucher, “L’image et fonctions du dieu Sucellus,” Caesa-
rodunum 23 (1988): 77-85; Miranda Green, Symbol and Image in Celtic Religious Art (London:
Routledge, 1989), 75-86. For Sucellus in the guise of the Roman Silvanus, see e.g., CIL 12.4173
(Esperandieu 497), where the inscription is to deus Silvanus, but the iconography carved in relief
on either side of the monument — olla and mallet, with three smaller mallets emanating from its
head not entirely dissimilarly to the arrangement in the Vienna bronze — is that typical of Sucel-
lus. For Silvanus in Narbonensis and the problems of interpretation, see Peter F. Dorcey, The Cult
of Silvanus: A Study in Roman Folk Religion (Leiden: Brill, 1992), 56-59.

16 For references and bibliography, see Green, Symbol and Image, 80. On the Orpierre bronze, see
H. Hubert, “Une nouvelle figure du dieu au maillet, provenant de Orpierre,” Revue Archeolo-
gique, 5th ser., 1 (1915): 26-39.

17 For Sucellus at Vienna, see Andre Pelletier, Vienne Antique (Roanne: Horvath, 1982), 389-92,
although his binary division of the archaeological evidence between a “Roman” Silvanus and a
“Gallic” Sucellus is misleading.

18 CIL 12.1836.

19 See Pierre Wuilleumier and Amable Audin, Les medaillons d’applique gallo-romains de la vallee
du Rhone (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1952), 74-77, no. 104.

20 On trends toward the individualization of religious expression in Gaul, especially in Narbon-
ensis, see Ralph Haussler, “Beyond ‘Polls Religion’ and Sacerdotes Publici in Southern Gaul,” in
Priests and State in the Roman World, ed. James H. Richardson and Federico Santangelo (Stutt-
gart: Steiner, 2011), 391-428.

21 Pliny, HN 3.31.

22 Cf. Henri Lavagne, “Les dieux de la Gaule Narbonnaise: ‘Romanite et romanisation,” Journal des
Savants, no. 3 (1979): 156-57.

23 See Paul Siegfried Leber, Die in Karnten seit 1902 gefundenen romischen Steininschriften (Klagen-
furt: Johannes Heyn, 1972), nos. 202-3.

24 This divinity is sometimes speciously thought to be the Greek Telesphorus. On the genius cuc-
ullatus, see, inter alios, Robert Egger, “Genius cucullatus,” Wiener Praehistorische Zeitschrift 19
(1932): 311-23; J. M. C. Toynbee, “ Genii cucullati in Roman Britain,” in Hommages a Waldemar
Deonna (Brussels: Latomus, 1957), 456-69; Waldemar Deonna, “Telesphore et le ‘genius cucul-
latus’ celtique,” Latomus 14, no. 1 (1959): 43-74.

25 By Matthew M. McCarty, in Art for Yale: Collecting for a New Century (New Haven: Yale Uni-

Andrew C. Johnston

versity Art Gallery, 2007), 388, plate 189. For previous views, see “Acquisitions: 2002,” Yale Uni-
versity Art Gallery Bulletin (2003): 132-33 (early fifth century BCE); David Gordon Mitten and
Suzannah F. Doeringer, Master Bronzes from the Classical World (Mainz: Von Zabern, 1967), 137
(second or first century BCE).

26 See Derek F. Allen, The Coins of the Ancient Celts (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1980),
93-94, nos. 335-36.

27 RRC 455/la.

28 See Francisco Marco Simon, “A Lost Identity: Celtiberian Iconography after the Roman Con-
quest,” in Continuity and Innovation in Religion in the Roman West, ed. Ralph Haussler and An-
thony C. King, 2 vols. (Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2008), 2:103-15. Incidental-
ly, figures in pointed hoods — perhaps priests — feature prominently in ritual scenes depicted on
these vessels.

29 Now housed in the Musee de Picardie at Amiens and the Rheinisches Landesmuseum at Trier,
respectively. The latter, unbearded, is sometimes identified as a peasant or plowman, rather than
a divinity. They both wear much shorter hooded cloaks, which stop at the waist and leave visible
a tunic, trousers, and boots underneath. On these, see F. M. Heichelheim, “Genii Cucullati,”
Archaeologia Aeliana, 4th ser., 12 (1935): 187-94, and Heinz Menzel, Die Romischen Bronzen aus
Deutschland II: Trier (Mainz: Von Zabern, 1966), no. 86.

30 See Aldhouse-Green, “Alternative Iconographies,” 41-45.

31 Esperandieu 5806.

32 The piece, of uncertain provenance, was acquired by the Collection Calzadilla of Badajoz and
first published by A. Blanco Freijeiro, “Patera argentea com representa<;ao de uma divinidade lu-
sitana,” Revista de Giumaraes 59 (1959): 453-57. It measures 21 cm in diameter, and weighs just
under half a kilogram. The settlement of Castellum Araocelum (or Araocelensium) is otherwise
known only from a single votive inscription, AE 1954, 93.

33 On Bandua, see, inter alios, Javier de Hoz Bravo and F. Fernandez Palacios, “Band-,” in Religides
da Lusitania: Loquuntur saxa, ed. Luis Raposo (Lisbon: Museu Nacional de Arqueologfa, 2002),
45-52, and Rosa Pedrero Sancho, “Aproximacion lingiifstica al teonimo lusitano-gallego Ban-
due/Bandi,” in Pueblos, lenguas y escrituras de la Hispania prerromana, ed. Francisco Villar and
F. Beltran (Salamanca: Universidad de Salamanca, 1999), 535-43.

34 For these attestations of Bandua, see respectively Hispania Epigraphica (HE) 17.150; AE 1977,
430; AE 1991, 1039; HE 1 1.713; AE 1968, 237; HE 2.596. Although there has been some scholarly
debate as to the correct interpretation of these epithets ending in -co(m) or -go/u(m), I here fol-
low the argument of Patricia de Bernardo Stempel, “Los formularios teonimicos, Bandus con su
pareja Bandua y unas isoglosas celticas,” Conimbriga 42 (2003): 197-212, in understanding them
as names of communities in the genitive plural, rather than as adjectives in the masculine dative
singular.

35 On this point in relation to a comparable case study, see Greg Woolf, “Local Cult in Imperial
Context: The Matronae Revisited,” in Romanisation und Resistenz, 137-38.

36 Cf. Francisco Marco Simon, “Imagen divina y transformation de las ideas religiosas en el ambito
Hispano-Galo,” in Religion, lengua y cultura prerromanas de Hispania, ed. Francisco Villar and
M. P. Fernandez Alvarez (Salamanca: Universidad de Salamanca, 2001), 213-26.

37 AE 1967, 239; on this document, see Emilio Illarregui, “Tessera Hospitalis de Herrera de Pi-

Household Objects and Social Memories in Roman Spain and Gaul

suerga (Palencia-Espana),” Revista Internacional d’Humanitats 20 (2010): 15-28, and Antonio
Garcia y Belli do, “Tessera Hospitalis del ano 14 de la era hallada en Herrera de Pisuerga,” Boletin
de la Real Academia de la Historia 159 (1966): 149-67.

38 On tesserae hospitales from Spain, see, in general, Leonard Curchin, The Romanization of Central
Spain: Complexity, Diversity, and Change in a Provincial Hinterland (London: Routledge, 2004),
140-43; John Nicols, “Hospitality among the Romans,” in The Oxford Handbook of Social Rela-
tions in the Roman World, ed. Michael Peachin (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 422-37;
Robert Etienne, Patrick Le Roux, and Alain Tranoy, “La tessera hospitalis, instrument de sociabi-
lity et de romanisation dans la peninsule iberique,” in Sociabilite, pouvoirs et societe, ed. Lran^oise
Thelamon (Rouen: Universite de Rouen, 1987), 323-36. Lor a detailed study of one of the more
important Celtiberian texts, the Luzaga bronze, see Wolfgang Meid, Celtiberian Inscriptions (Bu-
dapest: Archaeolingua, 1994), 38-44.

39 Lor the renewal of hospitium, see CIL 2.2633 (an agreement of 27 CE renewed in 152 CE); CIL
2.2958 (57 CE); AE 1985, 581 (134 CE); AE 2009, 607 (27 CE).

40 AE 1997, 875.

41 For the site and the route, see the Itinerarium Burdigalense 551-52.

42 This villa went out of use and was partially destroyed by the middle of the fourth century CE,
which furnishes a terminus ante quern for this bronze; on stylistic grounds as well, it would seem
to belong to the late third or early fourth century. For the archaeological context, see CAG 1 1.2,
289-90. The find, discovered in 1969, was originally published by Guy Barruol, “Circonscription
de Languedoc-Roussillon,” Gallia 29 (1971): 372-73.

43 The phrase quis primus occurs 40 times in the extant corpus of classical Latin literature; 3 1 of
these occurrences are in the work the Naturalis Historia of the elder Pliny, two-thirds in the sub-
ject headings of the table of contents in book one. For example, “Who first had columns made of
foreign marble at Rome?” (1.36.3).

44 Cic., Cat. 1.1.

45 For the reputation of the Gauls already in the second century BCE, see Cato fr. 34 in Hermann
Peter, Historicorum Romanorum Reliquiae (Leipzig: Teubner, 1870), 61. On the relationship be-
tween this reputation and the prominence of orators from Gaul in the early Roman imperial
period, see Ronald Syme, Tacitus (Oxford: Clarendon, 1958), 614-18. For the third and fourth
centuries, see Charles E. V. Nixon and Barbara Saylor Rodgers, In Praise of Later Roman Emper-
ors: The Panegyrici Latini (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), 3-10.

iiMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMii

Honoring the Empress Julia Domna on Arch
Monuments in Rome and North Africa

Kimberly Cassibry

This essay reconsiders provincial responses to a prominent empress (Julia Domna, c. 170-
217 CE) and a pervasive monument (the commemorative, freestanding arch, 196 BCE-408
CE). Although prior empresses had rarely appeared on Roman arches, Julia Domna was
thus honored at least 11 times. Never dedicated to her alone, however, the monuments
simultaneously recognized her reigning husband and son(s). Individual patrons as well
as civic and commercial collectives thought to include Julia Domna on arches in Rome,
Greece, and (primarily) North Africa. The monuments record diverse aspects of the em-
press’s public persona, while also preserving a rich cross-section of localized architectural
and sculptural design. They reveal how the malleable identities of two Roman institutions —
the empress and the arch — were defined not by the court and the Senate alone, but in dia-
logue with communities empire- wide.

Although the first freestanding arches arose in Rome, most were eventually created else-
where.1 The earliest known iterations, now lost, were set up in 196 BCE by a general who
had not earned a triumph, at least according to Livy.2 Lucius Stertinius, returning victorious
from Spain, erected two arches in front of temples in Rome’s Forum Boarium and one at
the nearby Circus Maximus, a site of religious festival games. Stertinius used the arches to
elevate statue groups, likely votive in nature. Three other generals followed suit by erecting
arches in Rome in honor of gods and/or ancestors.3 In the late first century BCE, during the
transition from republic to empire, the Senate began commissioning arches in honor of the
emperor and his family. The Senate publicized its arches with widely circulating decrees and
coins, which disseminated knowledge of the monument throughout the empire.4 Provincial
patronage by individuals and collectives thereafter increased dramatically and soon out-
paced that in Rome. By 408 CE, when the Senate made a final commission, at least 56 arches
had been erected in the imperial capital, by the Senate and other parties. In the provinces,
patrons had set up well over 500.

In a parallel transition away from the imperial capital, the first emperor (Augustus)
and empress (Livia) began their lives in Rome (in 63 BCE and 58 BCE, respectively), but
increasing numbers of their successors were province-born. Claudius, for instance, drew his
first breath in Lugdunum (Lyon) in 10 BCE and his wife Agrippina in what would become
Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippinensium (Cologne) in 15 CE, while their Roman fathers led
military campaigns in Gaul and Germany. Trajan (53-117 CE), though he hailed from Ital-

Kimberly Cassibry

ica (Santiponce) in Baetica (southwestern Spain), could claim descent from elite Italian
emigrants; his wife Plotina may have come from Nemausus (Nimes) in Gallia Narbonensis
(southern France). Though not born into the reigning dynasty, Trajan assumed supreme
power after a lengthy career in imperial administration had equipped him with not only
direct knowledge of many provinces, but also the skills necessary to govern them. Julia
Domnas husband Septimius Severus, himself a native of Lepcis Magna in Africa Proconsu-
laris, followed a similar path. A member of an elite family of senators from Libya, Severus
spoke fluent Punic and Greek, as well as Latin.5 His reign (193-211 CE) marked a turning
point; few succeeding dynasties had any roots at all in Rome.

Julia Domna

Even by the standards of the Roman court, Julia Domna led
an eventful and cosmopolitan life.6 Born into a Syrian family
well connected in politics and priesthoods, she spoke Greek
and Aramaic. Her exposure to Latin increased after marry-
ing, in 187, the future emperor Septimius Severus. Together,
the couple traveled widely as he pursued a career in impe-
rial administration. He was governing the province Gallia
Lugdunensis from its capital Lugdunum when she gave birth
to their first son, Caracalla, in 188. By the time their second
son Geta arrived a year later, they had moved to Rome to
await Severuss next assignment. The family’s journeys con-
tinued even after a crisis of succession (192-193 CE) gave
Severus the opportunity to seize supreme power and estab-
lish a new dynasty. Of the many trips that followed, one took
them back to Lepcis Magna, Severuss birthplace; the towns
magnificently sculpted arch may have marked the occasion.
A subsequent military campaign took the family to Britannia, where the ailing emperor died
in early 211. The two sons, then bitter rivals, ruled briefly together. By year’s end, Caracalla
had murdered his brother, although he claimed he had acted in self-defense. Julia Domna
supposedly tried to shield Geta from the sword attack. For the rest of Caracalla’s reign — and
in the absence of the wife he had denounced, divorced, and executed — Julia Domna helped
govern as dowager empress.7 She notably supervised imperial correspondence in both Greek
and Latin, which would have put her in the powerful role of intercessor for provincial peti-
tions.8 Based in Antioch while Caracalla campaigned in Mesopotamia, she responded to his
assassination in 217 by starving herself to death.

Throughout the empire, hundreds of marble and bronze portrait statues conveyed Julia
Domna’s striking beauty (plate 88).9 An elaborate hairstyle, possibly augmented by a wig,
remains the portraits’ most distinctive feature: from an emphatic central part, crimped and
sometimes braided strands fall almost to her shoulders, then fold back to be gathered in
a chignon at or above her nape.10 Small curls escape to curve around her cheekbones. A
broad forehead, beaked nose, and delicate chin complete the physiognomic formula regu-
larly tweaked by the court and replicated by sculptors empire-wide according to their own
abilities, materials, and regional training. Tinting would have enhanced verisimilitude of
portraits in marble. A tondo painting of the family (now sans Geta) suggests the coloring:
dark brown for her hair, eyebrows, and eyes (fig. 5.1). In addition to locally commissioned
statues, coin issues circulated representations of the empress in frontal and profile views
(plates 31, 86, 89, 93, 98). The wide dissemination of her image impacted portrayals of
women during her reign: even dolls share her hairstyle and facial features (plate 87).

5.1. Tondo painting of Septimius Severus, Julia
Domna, Caracalla, and Geta (effaced), c. 200 CE,
Egypt. Antikensammlung, Staatliche Museen,
Berlin, 31.329.

Honoring the Empress Julia Domna on Arch Monuments in Rome and North Africa

Scholars have attributed Julia Domnas unusual prominence in official coinage and state
relief sculptures to propaganda formulated by the dynasty. Natalie Kampen has argued that
Domna, like other empresses, became more visible when “family fictions” were needed
to mask dynastic breaks and forecast smooth transfers of power.11 Susann Lusnia too has
focused on Julia Domnas usefulness in emphasizing the existence of heirs and future dynas-
tic stability.12 Most recently, Julie Langford has coined the phrase “maternal megalomania”
to describe Domnas ubiquity.13 While extremely valuable, such analyses of official propa-
ganda often prioritize the desires of the court over those of the empires diverse communi-
ties, even when local contexts and adverse responses are acknowledged.

This essay focuses instead on discrepant perceptions of the empress recorded on arches
in several provinces, as well as in Rome. Systems of honorific and votive exchange governed
their creation and allowed patrons to advance their own interests while rendering homage
to those in power. The local perspectives thus preserved bring Julia Domnas multiple impe-
rial personas into sharper focus.

Honorific and Votive Exchange

In the civic realm, the protocols of honorific exchange structured the flow of political pow-
er.14 Although emperors inherited (or seized) individual authority, they governed in concert
with the Senate in Rome and elected magistrates and city councils elsewhere. For all of these
leaders, good deeds could be courted, obliged, and recompensed through inscribed mon-
uments ranging from plaques and statues to major buildings. Because soft power flowed
through such dedications, they had to involve at least two parties. No one was supposed to
set up a monument in his or her own honor. In a parallel system, desired outcomes could be
sought by propitiating deities with sacrifices (of animals, liquids, or incense) and offerings
(metalwork, statues, buildings, etc.). The imperial family enjoyed distinct connections to
the divine sphere, not least because the emperor served as the states chief priest ( Pontifex
Maximus). Moreover, polytheism permitted the apotheosis of deceased emperors, empress-
es, and their kin. While successors gained authority by becoming sons, daughters, and sib-
lings of gods, the support of deified rulers could be maintained by cult practice and votive
gifts. Much of the Roman Empire’s art and architecture emerged from the widespread social
practices of honorific and votive exchange.

A stone plaque from Dura-Europos illustrates how the two systems could work in con-
cert (plate 85). In Greek, the standard language of the eastern Mediterranean, the inscrip-
tion states:

The Assembly of Aurelian Antoninian Europaians [dedicates this to] Julia

Domna, Augusta, Mother of the Senate and of the Sacred Camps.15

Like most dedications, the words focus attention on the parties connected by the gift and
omit reference to its nature and impetus, which must be inferred. Here, Caracallas official
name (Marcus Aurelius Antoninus) has become part of Europoss, which typically indicates
that the town gained higher administrative status during his reign. Julia Domna, who ac-
companied her son on official trips to her native Syria and oversaw correspondence, may
have served as an intercessor for this honor, as the plaques excavators note.16 In describ-
ing the empress, the Assembly chose from a number of propagandistic titles, all circulated
through official coin issues. On a coin minted in Rome, for example, the obverse names her
“Julia, Pious, Fortunate, Augusta,” while the reverse designates her “Mother of the Emper-
ors,” “Mother of the Senate,” and “Mother of the Fatherland” (plate 86). For their own dedi-
cation, members of the Dura-Europos Assembly selected the standard “Augusta” (conferred
by the Senate in 193/4), “Mother of the Senate” ( Mater Senatus, conferred by the Senate in
211) and the unusually articulated “Mother of the Sacred Camps” ( Mater Castrorum, con-

Kimberly Cassibry

ferred by the Senate in 195). 17 The Assemblymens selection may indicate that they saw Julia
Domna as someone who could pivot effectively between those governing from the capital
and those camped at the edge of empire to defend the borders; the juxtaposition of titles
connects the center to the periphery through the aegis of the “maternal” empress. They
may have focused on Domnas relationship to the Senate, rather than her imperial son(s),
because they saw the Roman institution as a parallel body of collaborative government. The
Assemby s honorific award could also have comprised more than words. As the excavators
observed, an inscription this size (48.3 x 63.5 x 15.9 cm) could have formed part of a statue
base: the actual gift may thus have been a standing portrait, now lost.18 The plaque was
found not in a civic square, however, but face down in the Babylonian-style sanctuary of
Artemis-Nanaia. If originally set up there, then the dedication to the empress would have
simultaneously pleased the Greco-Syrian goddess by increasing the glory of her precinct. In
sum, the Assembly of this recently promoted garrison town had good reasons both for hon-
oring a powerful empress (perhaps not coincidentally born in the region) and for highlight-
ing her connections to the Senate and the military. Although the selection of an inscribed
plaque, or even a portrait statue, was fitting, a freestanding arch would have expressed a far
higher level of appreciation.

5.2. Silver denarius with head of Septimius Severus (obverse)
and the SPQR arch for Septimius Severus, Caracal la, and
Ceta (reverse), c. 206 CE, Rome. British Museum, London,

R. 15321.

Arch Monuments

Arches played a hierarchizing role in honorific,
votive, and funerary commemoration. A grandi-
ose pedestal, the monument drew attention to in-
scriptions and often to statuary too. The elder Pliny
(23-79 CE), the only ancient author to address the
function of arches, wrote that their purpose was
to “elevate some mortals above others,” hence to
stratify statue dedications.19 A coin representing
a senatorial arch dedicated to Septimius Severus,
Caracalla, and Geta, for example, indicates that
the monument originally displayed a portrait of the emperor driving a six-horse chariot
flanked by portraits of his sons on horseback (figs. 5.2, 5.6).20 In scale and location (nearly
21m tall and in the Forum at Rome), the honor of this statue-laden arch was greater than
the honor of the inscribed plaque from Dura-Europos (plate 85), even if it once formed part
of a simple plinth supporting the empress’s portrait.

Often inaccurately called “triumphal,” the arch’s essential purpose in antiquity was to
commemorate connections between those awarding and those receiving the monument.
The portal required only an inscription naming the donor, who could be an individual or a
group, and the recipient, who might be a local leader, an emperor, a god or goddess, or even
a deceased family member.21 All other characteristics — freestanding or connected to neigh-
boring structures; arcuated or rectilinear; ornamented with relief sculptures or not; even
endowed with statues or not — could and did vary. Remarkably flexible, the arch’s design
dynamics differed from other forms of imperial culture, such as portraits of the emperor
and his family. If members of a provincial community wished to honor an empress by set-
ting up a statue of her in their town square, for example, the portrait often responded to
formulae established by the imperial court. If the same community opted to place the statue
atop an honorific arch, the monument did not necessarily resemble contemporary ones set
up by the Senate in Rome, including those publicized on coin issues.

Honoring the Empress Julia Domna on Arch Monuments in Rome and North Africa

The Empress on the Arch

Although arches could be dedicated to
anyone — living, dead, or divine — they
most often honored the emperor and
his family, perhaps because the imperi-
al family had the most valuable boons
to bestow within the system of honorific
exchange. According to Heinz Kahler’s
1939 catalogue (which needs updating),
four empresses besides Julia Domna were
included in the honor of an arch: Livia
(r. 27 BCE- 14 CE) can be connected to
four; Agrippina (r. 41-54 CE), Plotina (r.

98-117 CE), and Salonina (r. 260-268 CE)

to one each 22 Onlv three of these arches 5-3- Arc^ Mazaeus and Mithridates for Augustus, Livia, Agrippa, and
... ‘ , ... . Julia, 4-3 BCE, Ephesus.

still stand, yet they illustrate the monu-
ments diversity of patrons and design. For
example, at the entrance to the agora (town square)
at Ephesus (Turkey), two men named Mazaeus and
Mithridates commissioned, around 4 or 3 BCE, a
triple-bay gateway dedicated in Latin to Augus-
tus, his wife Livia, his son-in-law Agrippa, and his
daughter Julia (fig. 5.3).23 In a supplementary Greek
inscription, Mazaeus and Mithridates further dedi-
cated the monument “to their patrons and the peo-
ple,” presumably the people of Ephesus. At Anco-
na, Italy, in 115 CE, the Senate and Roman People
(SPQR) commemorated Trajan’s renovation of the
port with a waterside, single-bay arch, originally
displaying ship prows on its facade (fig. 5.4). 24 A
lengthy central inscription in Latin addresses Tra-
jan; inscriptions to either side name his wife Ploti-
na and his deified sister Marciana. Back in Rome a
century later, an individual named Aurelius Victor
remodeled a triple-bay city gate (only the central
bay survives) and dedicated it to Gallienus and his
empress Salonina in 262 CE (fig. 5.5).25

Julia Domna stands apart from preceding and subsequent empresses in being named as
one of the honorees on at least 1 1 arches, all commissioned during the reigns of her hus-
band and son (193-217 CE) and honoring them in tandem. Five in North Africa and one
in Greece are known only through inscriptions and ruins.26 Those at Rome, Lepcis Magna,

Thevestis, Cuicul, and Volubilis still stand. The scope and significance of Julia Domnas
presence on arches has not been fully appreciated, in part because the monuments’ architec-
tural, epigraphic, and sculptural aspects are often addressed separately. Studies focused on
a single region (e.g., Rome or a province, but rarely both) have further obscured design and
dedication patterns. Reintegrating these bodies of evidence amplifies what the arches can
tell us about perceptions of the empress’s developing role during her husband’s reign and
her son’s. At the same time, the arches reveal how flexibly the monument accommodated
the honorific, votive, and even the funerary goals of ambitious patrons.27

5.4. Arch of the Senate and Roman People
forTrajan, Plotina, and the Divine Marciana,
115 CE, Ancona.

Kimberly Cassibry

5.5. Arch of Aurelius Victor for Gallienus and Salonina
262 CE, Rome.

Julia Domna did not appear on all arches honoring
her husband and sons.28 The Roman Senate, for one,
excluded her from the dedication and design of the
only arch it commissioned for the dynasty (fig. 5. 6). 29
According to the lengthy inscription, the SPQR erected
the arch for Septimius Severus, Caracalla, and Geta to
commemorate their “restoration of the Republic and
spread of the Roman peoples dominion.”30 The arch’s
dedication occurred around 202-203, soon after the
family’s return from a journey to Syria and Mesopota-
mia (197-202), where Severus had battled the Parthians
for a second time. Imposing in scale (20.9 x 23.3 x 11.2
m), with projecting columns of the composite order,
the triple-bay arch of concrete, travertine, and Procon-
nesian marble stood near the Curia in Rome’s Forum.
The arch’s historical relief sculptures focus on Severus’s
military campaigns and battlefield captives and the tri-
umphal procession awarded by the Senate in response;
personifications of seasons and regions further gloss his
and his heirs’ achievements. As discussed above, coins
representing the arch show a crowning statuary group,
with Severus driving a chariot flanked by his sons on
horseback (fig. 5.2). From the Senate’s perspective, Julia
Domna had played no role in restoring the state’s sta-
bility and defending its borders; she therefore did not
appear on the arch in either word or image. Gauging
the dynasty’s service to the state was the Senate’s duty;
its exclusion of the empress did not need to influence
other patrons who were free to pursue their own pri-
orities. Despite being widely publicized on coin issues,
this SPQR arch did not set an empire-wide precedent in
dedication or design.

In 203-204 CE, for example, the merchants ( nego -
tiantes ) and financiers ( argentarii ) of Rome’s Forum
Boarium dedicated a portal to Septimius Severus, Car-
acalla, Geta, Julia Domna, Plautilla (Caracalla’s bride in
203), and Plautianus (Caracalla’s father-in-law), according to the original inscription (fig.
5. 7). 31 The words connect the patrons and the honorees without ever mentioning the mon-
ument itself.32 The so-called “Arch of the Argentarii,” now embedded in the Church of San
Giorgio in Velabro, was originally a freestanding, rectilinear gateway constructed of con-
crete, travertine, and Hymettian marble.33 Modest in scale (6.3 x 5.7 x 2.2 m), it may have
framed the market’s entrance. The north side was left undecorated, as were the lower piers
now beneath ground level; any statues that may have been included in the gift are lost.
Framed by pilasters with composite capitals, sculptural reliefs develop themes of victory
(bound captives and military standards), divine approbation (Hercules and Roma flank
the inscription), and piety. On the inner panels, Septimius Severus as Pontifex Maximus
and Julia Domna (whose image resembles her second general portrait type) stand with
heads piously veiled while the emperor pours a libation at an altar (fig. 5. 8). 34 Geta likely
once stood with them: his condemnation by Caracalla in 211 caused his image and name
to be erased from this and many other public monuments. On the opposite panel, Cara-
calla likewise pours a libation: his actions mirror his father’s and evoke their continuation

5.6. Arch of the Senate and Roman People for
Septimius Severus, Caracalla, and Geta, 203 CE, Rome.

Honoring the Empress Julia Domna on Arch Monuments in Rome and North Africa

5.7. Arch of the Negotiantes and Argentarii for
Septimius Severus, Caracal la, Geta, Julia Domna,
Plautilla, and Plautianus, 203-204 CE, Rome.

in the future. Originally, Plautilla and Plautianus prob-
ably accompanied him; their images and names would
have disappeared after their execution and banishment
(respectively) in 205. Other reliefs feature ritual imple-
ments and — most importantly — cattle led forth for sac-
rifice.35 The Forum Boarium likely provided the cattle
necessary for sacrifices on religious occasions. The busi-
nessmen would have profited from those made upon the
dynasty’s victorious return to Rome in 202 and from the
staging of the Secular Games (the Ludi Saeculares, cele-
brating the turn of a new century) in 204. Julia Domna
played a prominent role in the latter religious festival
and was also known as a patron of temples for god-
desses.36 The Forum Boarium’s merchants and bankers
may have responded to these activities, which benefited
them, by visually highlighting the empress’s religious
persona and her affiliation with the state’s present and
future chief priests. Her inscribed titles, “Mother of the
Emperors and of the Camps,” reinforce her connection
to both the familial and martial imagery.37 The Arch of
the Argentarii, in dedication, architectural form, and
decoration, contrasts with the Senate’s nearly contem-
porary monument, less than a mile away. Even in Rome,
arch patrons pursued independent agendas.38

The most magnificently sculpted arch featuring Julia
Domna stood not in Rome, but in Severus’s hometown Lepcis
Magna, a 1000-year-old Punic city in the province Africa Pro-
consularis (fig. 5.9). In the absence of an inscription, the pre-
cise date (sometime between 203 and 209 CE), the identities of
the donors and recipients, and the reasons for dedication are
debated.39 Inscriptions from Lepcis Magna’s earlier arch mon-
uments reveal a range of patronage precedents: the imperial
officials who served as the town’s sponsors ( patroni ) seem to
have set up two single-bay arches for Tiberius in the context of
a street paving project (35-36 CE);40 the town collectively, with
public funds, erected a tetrapylon for Trajan, presumably when
he granted the town desirable colonial status (109-110 CE);41 a
wealthy citizen named Avilius Castus financed, with the addition
of public funds, a tetrapylon with statues for Marcus Aurelius
(173-174 CE).42 The Severan arch may have resulted from a col-
lective, public commission, perhaps with the participation of a
wealthy citizen. The sculptural program — among the most exten-
sive and thematically complex of all Roman arches — features the

emperor, the empress, and their two teenage sons in scenes illustrating the imperial virtues
of piety, valor, and concord. Because Septimius Severus, Julia Domna, Caracalla, and Geta
all serve as protagonists in the reliefs, the arch likely honored all four of them. Julia Domna
(now in an image recalling her third general portrait type) appears at least five times.43
Though not from Lepcis, she may have been included repeatedly in the sculptures in order
to underscore the familial nature of the city’s connection to the emperor: Kampen has
argued that when imperial women appear in historical reliefs — and they rarely do so — they
conjure the domestic sphere.44 Thus Lepcis Magna’s personal purpose in highlighting Julia

5.8. Arch ofthe Negotiantes and Argentarii,
detail.

Kimberly Cassibry

Domnas participation in a sacrifice scene differed
from the business concerns of the argentarii and
negotiantes of the Forum Boarium in Rome (fig.
5.10). A regionally distinctive sculptural style
also distinguishes these reliefs from those on
the nearly contemporary arches in Rome. Here,
deep drilling defines the figures and their drapery
with sharp lines of shadow. The monument s form
likewise responds to the city’s own architectural
preferences. Although heavily and controversially
reconstructed with many casts today, the lime-
stone and Dokimian marble arch clearly took the
form of a tetrapylon (c. 14 x 14 m at ground level)
with projecting Corinthian columns. The forms
two intersecting archways (12.2 m high) effec-
tively accommodated a major crossroads within
the city.45 The towns arches for Trajan and Mar-
cus Aurelius were likewise tetrapyla, as were three miniature examples, likely statue bases,
which stood in the market.46 Severuss hometown had certainly prospered during his reign.
The conferral of privileges normally reserved for Italian cities ( Ius Italicum), an official visit
by the imperial family, and architectural benefactions all followed Severuss accession; each
offered an occasion for concretizing a close connection to those in power through the pub-
lic honor of an arch.

Individuals could use arches to construct personal identities in relation to the impe-
rial family. For example, a bereaved brother and sister in Thevestis (Tebessa, Algeria), near
the border dividing Africa Proconsularis from Numidia, oversaw construction of a testa-
mentary tetrapylon in honor of the deified Septimius Severus, Caracalla, and Julia Domna
between 211 and 214 CE (figs. 5.1 1, 5. 12). 47 A lengthy inscription on one pier indicates that
C. Cornelius Egrilianus, a recently deceased prefect of the Fourteenth Legion Gemina, left
funds in his will for, among other benefactions, “an arch with statues” ( arcum cum statuis ).48
His brother and sister, executors of his will, take credit for the commission; they may have
had to amend Egrilianus s plans to include Geta. Constructed of limestone, this tetrapylon
differed in design and proportions from the slightly earlier one at Lepcis (c. 14.5 x 14.5 m
at ground level; 7.5 m high archways).49 While omitting historical reliefs, the design did
include figured keystones representing deities, similar to the Tyche keystone from Antioch
(Syria) (plate 1). Columned Corinthian aediculae for statues once crowned the archways;
inscriptions dedicate each to one member of the family (the north one perhaps intended for
Geta is damaged). By dedicating the testamentary arch to the imperial family, but inscrib-
ing the terms of the will visibly on one pier, Egrilianuss own family commemorated his
life at a major crossroads within the city, where funerary monuments were typically not

5.10. Arch of Lepcis Magna, detail. Archaeological Museum, Tripoli.

Honoring the Empress Julia Domna on Arch Monuments in Rome and North Africa

5.11. Reconstruction of the arch ofC. Cornelius Egrilianus for
Caracalla, Julia Domna, and the Divine Septimius Severus,
214 CE, Tebessa (after Bacchielli 1987, fig. 5).

allowed.50 At the same time, the arch functioned
as both a funerary honor and a votive offering for
Egrilianus’s former commander-in-chief, Septi-
mius Severus, as well as a civic honor for the army’s
subsequent commander, Caracalla. Julia Dom-
nas status as “Mother of the Camps” — a role with
which a camp prefect would have been familiar —
likely recommended her inclusion. The inscription
beneath her statue (now lost) states:

For Julia Domna Augusta, Mother of the

Camps, and of the Emperor, and of the

Senate, and of the Fatherland.51

After the honorific “Augusta,” “Mother of the
Camps” is listed first among her titles, in contrast
to many other inscriptions, including the ones on
Arch of the Argentarii and the plaque from Du-
ra-Europos discussed above (plate 85). Through
the ordering and selection of the empress’s titles,
patrons like Egrilianus and his family could cus-
tomize for themselves the honorific language em-
anating from the imperial court and Roman Senate.

In 216 CE, a 100-year-old veterans’ colony at
Berber Cuicul (Djemila, Algeria), near the border
dividing Numidia from Mauretania Caesariensis,
erected an arch for Caracalla, Julia Domna, and
the Divine Septimius Severus (in that order) (fig.

5. 13). 52 The inscription authored by the “Repub-
lic” of Cuicul counts among the few to name this
kind of monument a “triumphal arch.”53 “Arch”
alone is far more common, as on the testamentary
inscription on the arch at Thevestis. In this context,

“triumphal” likely conveys “successful,” not least
because the inscription mentions no specific tri-
umphal procession in Rome (the only city where
official ones could take place), and the monument
neither elevated a triumphal chariot group, nor

represented a procession in relief sculpture. As on the tetrapylon at Thevestis, the design
here emphasizes statue display. Three bases for lost portraits of the honorees stand atop the
reconstructed attic; aediculae in the attic and niches in the lower facade, both framed by
projecting Corinthian columns, likely accommodated even more. The location of the tall
(12.6 x 10.6 x 4.3 m), single-bay, limestone arch is instructive: the monument marked the
western edge of a new plaza beyond the colony’s original walls.54 Although the arch and its
statues likely made an impression on those arriving from the west, only the east side facing
the plaza seems to have borne an inscription. The city council supervising the urban expan-
sion must have seen the need for a portal defining the expanded boundary, and did so in a
way that strengthened and advertised relations to living and deified members of the impe-
rial family. Although the inscription gives no particular reason for the dedication, Cara-
calla’s titles date the arch to the penultimate year of his reign. Then, Julia Domna may have
been at the peak of her power while supervising the affairs of state from Antioch during her

5.12. Arch of C. Cornelius Egrilianus, 214 CE, Tebessa.

Kimberly Cassibry

5.13. Arch of the Republic of Cuicul for Caracal la, Julia
Domna, and the Divine Septimius Severus, 216 CE, Djemila.

sons absence on his Mesopotamian campaign. Her
titles — “Pious, Fortunate, Augusta, Mother of Him
[the emperor], of the Senate, of the Fatherland, and
of the Camps” — prioritize her maternal relation-
ship to her son first and foremost. Significantly, the
arch anticipates the construction of a temple to the
divine Severan dynasty, dedicated in 229, along the
southern edge of the same plaza.

The same year, or perhaps the following one, a
400-year-old settlement of Berber and Punic heri-
tage in the province Mauretania Tingitana dedicated
an arch to Caracalla and Julia Domna alone— with-
out the Divine Septimius Severus (fig. 5.14).55In the
inscription, the “Republic of Volubtilitans” (Volubi-
lis, Morocco) calls the monument simply an “arch.”56
The lengthy inscriptions oblique reference to the
arch’s impetus— the honorees’ “unprecedented gen-
erosity”—may acknowledge either the bestowal of
citizenship on all free-born residents of the empire
(the Antonine Constitution of 212) or, more likely,
special tax relief extended to the region.57 Julia
Domna may have mediated conferral of the latter
privilege through her control of correspondence;
such a scenario would explain the extremely rare
pairing of an emperor and dowager empress on a
major monument.58 Her titles — “Augusta, Pious,
Fortunate, Mother of the Emperor, and of the
Camps, and of the Senate and of the Fatherland” —
again prioritize her relationship to her son the
emperor. Of the six-horse chariot group mentioned
in the inscription, a few bronze fragments may sur-
vive from the horses and from a polychrome metal
garment spectacularly embroidered with captive
barbarians.59 In addition, awkwardly carved panels
of relief sculpture featured weapons, armor, stan-
dards, and personified seasons and victories, but not historical scenes. Altogether, the sculp-
tural program conjures generic themes of cyclical prosperity and security sustained by the
dynasty (although the panels are inaccurately arranged in the arch’s current reconstruction,
which also omits most of the attic). This is the only commemorative arch known at Volu-
bilis, and its design is as extraordinary as its dedication. The limestone arch’s proportions
(originally c. 13.8 x 19.3 x 4.7 m) usually correspond to a triple-bay monument, but here
the designers replaced the lateral archways with piped fountains and basins.60 The trickling
water transformed the grandiose statue base into a functional urban amenity, located in a
residential quarter across from a bath complex near the city center.

5.14. Arch of the Republic of Volubtilitans for Caracalla and
Julia Domna, 216-217 CE, Volubilis.

Conclusion

It could be argued that Julia Domna’s name was inscribed on so many arches because dynas-
tic propaganda emphasized the empress to an unprecedented degree at the precise moment
when the general incidence of public inscriptions peaked. As Greg Woolf has suggested,
however, the use of inscriptions expanded so dramatically because residents of the empire

Honoring the Empress Julia Domna on Arch Monuments in Rome and North Africa

saw in them a way to make enduring statements about ever more fluid identities and rela-
tions.61 Woolf’s pivot to the patrons point of view is key. Julia Domna appeared on more
commemorative arches than any other empress because more patrons sought to articulate
relationships to her on major monuments. Yet she seems never to have received this high
honor for herself alone. Arch inscriptions capture her multiple and evolving roles within
the dynasty as perceived by metropolitan and provincial residents. For them, the visual and
textual rhetoric of family harmony and loyalty offered formulae flexible enough to describe
Julia Domnas evolving authority during her sons unpredictable reign. Caracalla assumed
and then wielded supreme power while unmarried and lacking heirs, either biological or
adopted; in every year of his sole rule (21 1-217), he thus failed in his duty to promise the
smooth transfer of power to son(s) upon his death. Recovering some provincial responses
to this situation — wherein Julia Domna, rather than Caracallas other associates or heirs,
was entrusted with official correspondence and likely other responsibilities as well — re-
quires reintegrating the material evidence of arches. When scholars limit investigations to
historical relief sculptures, they see Domna primarily as a mother within a nuclear family
during her husbands reign, not as a powerful dowager during Caracallas. When they focus
on the inscriptions alone, without considering the prominence arch monuments accorded
the words architecturally, they miss the high register of honor the empress merited.

Reintegrating the sculptural, epigraphic, and architectural evidence for arches related to
Julia Domna also yields new insights into the monuments’ patrons and their priorities. Even
the Senate, whose arches for emperors in Rome are too often assumed to set empire-wide
standards, emerges in a clearer role. Although the arch the Senate dedicated to Septimius
Severus, Caracalla, and Geta around 203 was widely publicized on coins, contemporary
commissions by other patrons indicate that they did not feel bound by the Senate’s specific
dedicatory or design decisions. The arches reveal further that the monument held appeal
for individuals (the prefect C. Cornelius Egrilianus), business partners (the merchants
and bankers of Rome’s Forum Boarium), and civic collectives ranging from a century-old
Roman veterans’ colony (Cuicul) to a centuries-old settlement of Berber and Punic heritage
(Volubilis). Perhaps not surprisingly, these far-flung patrons commissioned an architectur-
ally diverse set of monuments, even in a relatively short time span. All of the arches analyzed
above date between 202 and 217 — a mere 15 years. Their designs range from a relief-laden,
post-and-lintel portal with no evidence of statuary (the Arch of the Argentarii), to a nearly
relief-less tetrapylon elevating aediculae to frame and protect statues (the arch at Thevestis),
to a statue-bearing arch with fountains (Volubilis). Urban locations include major cross-
roads (at Lepcis Magna and Thevestis), the entrances to a plaza (at Cuicul) and a market
(at Rome), and even a residential quarter (at Volubilis). Conceptual functions vary too: the
civic, funerary, and votive aspects of the arch at Thevestis make this particular monument
one of the empire’s most versatile.

The commemorative arch was one of Rome’s most successful inventions. Later enthusi-
asts like Napoleon, who commissioned two “arcs de triomphe” in Paris, may have seen in
the monument an enviable emblem of Roman dominion. Yet the monument’s perceived
“Romanness” must have varied considerably in antiquity. By the second century CE, many
provincial residents encountered arch monuments primarily in the regions where they
resided. Septimius Severus and Julia Domna themselves would have seen dozens before
they ever set foot in Rome. For many patrons, the arch was not necessarily a symbol of alle-
giance to or conquest by the city of Rome, but instead a platform for negotiating imperial
relations. Understanding how to use monuments in this way, even to address an exceptional
empress, was an essential part of being Roman, everywhere.

Kimberly Cassibry

I would like to thank Lisa Brody and Gail Hoffman for their invitation to contribute to this vol-
ume and for their insightful comments. I also owe a debt of gratitude to Monique Dondin-Payre
for the inspiring seminar she offered on Roman North Africa in 2007 at the Ecole Pratique des
Hautes Etudes. Travel to conduct the research for this essay was supported by the Social Science
Research Council’s International Dissertation Field Research Fellowship and by Wellesley Col-
lege Faculty Awards.

1 Kahler’s empire-wide catalogue of 630 arches remains indispensable. Heinz Kahler, “Triumph-
bogen,” in Real-Encyclopadie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft, 2nd ser., vol. 7 A (Stuttgart:
Alfred Druckenmiiller, 1939), 373-493. Fred Kleiner, “The Study of Roman Triumphal and Hon-
orary Arches 50 years after Kahler,” Journal of Roman Archaeology 2 (1989): 195-206. Sabine
Fahndrich estimates that another 200 arches could now be added to Kahler’s total in Bogenmon-
umente in der romischen Kunst: Ausstattung, Funktion und Bedeutung antiker Bogen- und Tor-
bauten (Rahden: Marie Feidorf, 2005), 3n8. Regional catalogues and monographs now partially
update Kahler’s work, chief among them Sandro de Maria’s Gli Archi Onorari di Roma e dell’Italia
Romana (Rome: F’Erma di Bretschneider, 1988).

2 Livy 33.27.3-4. De Maria, Gli Archi Onorari, 262-63.

3 De Maria, Gli Archi Onorari, 263-267.

4 For the Senate’s espousal of the monument and the consequent shift in terminology (from fornix
to arcus), Andrew Wallace-Hadrill, “Roman Arches and Greek Honors: The Fanguage of Power
at Rome,” Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society 36 (1990): 143-81.

5 Anthony R. Birley, Septimius Severus: The African Emperor (New York: Routledge, 1988). Anne
Daguet-Gagey, Septime Severe: Rome, TAfrique et VOrient (Paris: Payot, 2000).

6 For an excellent account of Julia Domna’s life, with a critical assessment of the primary sources
and bibliography, see Barbara Fevick, Julia Domna: Syrian Empress (New York: Routledge, 2007).
For Julia Domna’s literary circle in particular, see Emily Hemelrijk, Matrona Docta: Educated
Women in the Roman Elite from Cornelia to Julia Domna (New York: Routledge, 1999), 122-26.

7 For the scholarly debate about the extent of Julia Domna’s participation in government, see
Levick, Julia Domna, 95-98.

8 Cass. Dio 78.18.2.

9 Fejfer catalogues 120 surviving statue bases for Julia Domna, but this number certainly does not
represent the original total. Jane Fejfer, “The Portraits of the Severan Empress Julia Domna: A
New Approach,” Analecta Romana Instituti Danici 14 (1985): 129-38. In 1964, Nodelman cata-
logued at least 35 existing portraits, which can only rarely be connected to bases. Sheldon Nodel-
man, “Severan Imperial Portraiture, AD 193-217” (PhD diss., Yale University, 1964), 110-36.

10 Janet Stevens argues that invisible threads hold the coiffure together without artificial hair in
“Ancient Roman Hairdressing: On (Hair)pins and Needles,” Journal of Roman Archaeology 21
(2008): 111-32.

11 Natalie Boymel Kampen, Family Fictions in Roman Art (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 2009), 82-103.

12 Susann Lusnia, “Julia Domna’s Coinage and Severan Dynastic Propaganda,” Latomus 54, no. 1
(1995): 119-40.

13 Langford is especially attentive to the Senate’s negotiation of imperial ideology through Domna’s
titles. Julie Langford, Maternal Megalomania: Julia Domna and the Imperial Politics of Mother-

Honoring the Empress Julia Domna on Arch Monuments in Rome and North Africa

hood (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2013).

14 J. E. Lendon, Empire of Honour: The Art of Government in the Roman World (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1997).

15 Paul Baur, Michael Rostovtzeff, and Alfred Bellinger, eds., The Excavations at Dura-Europos: Pre-
liminary Report of the 3rd Season of Work, 1929-1930 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1932),
51-52. ’IovXlav Aopvav / Avyovorav rfjv prjTepa / ovvKXrjrov xal tcov / iepcov OTpocTevpcucov /
AvprjX(iavd)v) AvTcoviviavtiv / Evpwncdcov fj fovXq.

16 Ibid., 52.

17 For the conferral of titles and their chronological controversies, see Langford, Maternal Megalo-
mania, 14 (Augusta)-, 84-112, 134-36 ( Mater Senatus); 23-48 ( Mater Castrorum).

18 Baur, Rostovtzeff, and Bellinger, Preliminary Report 3, 51.

19 Pliny, HN 34.27.

20 Fahndrich, Bogenmonumente in der romischen Kunst, 45, 48. Philip Hill, The Monuments of An-
cient Rome as Coin Types (London: Seaby, 1989), 51-52.

21 Margaret Woodhull has analyzed a family funerary arch — unrelated to the imperial dynasty — at
Pula, Croatia, in “Matronly Patrons in the Early Roman Empire: The Case of Salvia Postuma,” in
Womens Influence on Classical Civilization, ed. Fiona McHardy and Eireann Marshall (London:
Routledge, 2004), 75-91. For arches dedicated to gods such as Jupiter, see Fred Kleiner, “The
Sanctuary of the Matronae Aufaniae in Bonn and the Tradition of Votive Arches in the Roman
World,” Bonner Jahrbucher 191 (1991): 199-224.

22 Kahler, “Triumphbogen,” 467-69, including a conjectured arch for Sabina.

23 Left bay attic: Imp. Caesari divi f Augusto pontifici / maximo cos. XII tribunic. potest. XX et /
Liviae Caesaris Augusti / Mazeaus et-, right bay attic: M. Agrippae L. f. cos. tert. imb. tribunic. /
potest. VI et / Juliae Caesaris Augusti fil. / Mithridates patronis-, central bay attic: Ma([aio]q xai
MidpiSaTrjq [wiq narjpwoi xai tco Sr][fi(p]. Kahler, “Triumphbogen,” 454, 7.10. Wilhelm Alzinger,
Augusteische Architektor in Ephesos, 2 vols. (Vienna: Selbstverlag, 1974), 1:9-17.

24 Center of the attic: Imp. Caesari divi Nervaef. Nervae / Traiano Optimo Aug. Germanic. / Dacico.
pont. max. tr. pot. XVIIII imp. IX / cos. VI p. p. providentissimo principi / Senatus P.q.R. quod
accessum / Italiae hoc etiam addito ex pecunia sua / portu tutiorem navigantibus reddiderit-, left of
the attic: Plotinae / Aug. / coniugi Aug.; right of the attic: Divae / Marcianae / Aug. / sorori Aug.
Kahler, “Triumphbogen,” 403, 2.1. CIL 9.5894. De Maria, Gli Archi Onorari, 227-28.

25 Gallieno clementissimo principi cuius invicta virtus sola pietate superata est et Saloninae sanctissi-
maeAug. / Aurelius Victor v.e. dicatissimus numini maiestatique eorum. Kahler, “Triumphbogen,”
394, 1.36. CIL 6.1106. De Maria, Gli Archi Onorari, 311-12.

26 Kahler, “Triumphbogen,” 431, 5.16b (Dougga, Tunisia); 428-29, 5.11a (Vaga, Tunisia); 435, 5.27c
(Khamissa, Tunisia); 428, 5.10 (Vazitana, Tunisia); 445, 5.55 (Assuras, Algeria); 450-51, 6.18
(Thasos, Greece). About a third of the Dougga arch still stands. Samir Aounallah, Thugga, Doug-
ga: Ville Romano- Africaine de Tunisie (Sousse: Contraste Editions, 2006), 64-65. The Thasos arch
has collapsed, but most of its ashlars survive. Jean-Yves Marc proposes a reconstruction in “Der
sogenannte Caracalla-Bogen in Thasos und die Funktion Monumentaler Bogen in den griech-
ischen Stadten der romischen Kaiserzeit,” in 100 Jahre osterreichische Forschungen in Ephesos:
Akten des Symposions Wien 1995, ed. Barbara Brandt and Karl Krierer (Vienna: Osterreichischen
Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1999), 707-11. Julia Domna may also have been included in the

Kimberly Cassibry

dedication of the headquarters portal (“groma”), sometimes inaccurately called a triumphal arch,
at Dura-Europos. Josef Miihlenbrock, Tetrapylon: Zur Geschichte des viertorigen Bogenmonu-
mentes in der romischen Architektur (Munster: Scriptorium, 2003), 242-43.

27 For the increasingly local significance of arch monuments over time, see also Henner von Hes-
berg, “Bogenmonumente der friihen Kaiserzeit und des 2. Jahrhunderts n. Chr.: Vom Ehren-
bogen zum Festtor,” in Die romische Stadt im 2. Jahrhundert n. Chr: Der Funktionswandel des
offentlichen Raumes, ed. Hans-Joachim Schalles et al. (Cologne: Rheinland- Verlag, 1992), 277-
99.

28 Julia Domna was excluded from nine arches during the reign of Septimius Severus, but from
only two arches during the reign of Caracalla. Kahler, “Triumphbogen,” 468-69.

29 Kahler, “Triumphbogen,” 392-93, 1.34. Diane Favro, “Construction Traffic in Imperial Rome:
Building the Arch of Septimius Severus,” in Rome, Ostia, Pompeii: Movement and Space, ed. Ray
Laurence and David J. Newsome (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 332-60. Zahra Newby,
“Art at the Crossroads? Themes and Styles in Severan Art,” in Severan Culture, ed. Simon Swain,
Stephen Harrison, and Jas Eisner (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 201-49, esp.
202-6. Susann Lusnia, “Battle Imagery and Politics on the Severan Arch in the Roman Forum,”
in Representations of War in Ancient Rome, ed. Sheila Dillon and Katherine Welch (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2006), 272-98. Richard Brilliant, The Arch of Septimius Severus in
the Roman Forum (Rome: American Academy in Rome, 1967).

30 For the inscription (C7L 6.1033), which was partly re-carved following Geta’s death and con-
demnation, see De Maria, Gli Archi Onorari, 305-7. Imp. Caes. Lucio Septimio M. fil. Severn
Pio Pertinaci Aug. patri patriae Parthico Arabico et / Parthico Adiabenico pontific. maximo tri-
bunic. potest. XI imp. XI cos. Ill procos. et / Imp. Caes. M. Aurelio L. fil. Antonino Aug. Pio felici
tribunic. potest. VI cos. procos. [[p.p / optimis fortissimisque principibus / «et/ p. Septimo Getae
nobilissimo Cqesari»]] / ob rem publicam restitutam imperiumque populi romani propagatum
insignibus virtutibus eorum domi forisque SPQR.

31 Kahler, “Triumphbogen,” 393-94, 1.35.

32 De Maria, Gli Archi Onorari, 309. Imp. Caes. L. Septimio Severn Pio Pertinaci Aug. Arabic. Adia-
benic. Part. Max. fortissimo felicissimo / pontif. max. trib. potest. XII imp. XI cos. Ill patri patriae
et / Imp. Caes. M. Aurelio Antonino Pio Felici Aug. trib. potest. VII cos. [[Hip. p. procos. fortissimo
felicissimoque principi / «et P. Septimio Getae nobilissimo Caes»]] et Iuliae Aug. matri Aug.
[[n. et castrorum et Senatus et patriae / «Augg. et castrorum et Fulviae Plautillae Aug.»]] Imp.
Caes. M. Aureli Antonini Pii Felicis Aug. / [[Parthici Maximi Britannici Maximi / «uxori filiae
C. Fulvi Plautiani c. v. pontif nobilissimi pr. pr. cos II necessari et comitis Augg?»]] argentari
et negotiantes boari huius [[loci que invehent / «loci»]J devoti numini eorum. For alternate
reconstructions, Anne Daguet-Gagey, “L’arc des argentiers, a Rome: A propos de la dedicace du
monument ( CIL 4.1035 = 31232 = ILS 426),” Revue Historique 129, no. 3 (2005): 499-519.

33 For materials and dimensions, De Maria, Gli Archi Onorari, 307-9.

34 Nodelman, “Severan Imperial Portraiture,” 125-26.

35 Eisner emphasizes the general relation between the representations of cattle sacrifice and the
markets function (“Sacrifice and Narrative on the Arch of the Argentarii in Rome,” Journal of
Roman Archaeology 18 [2005]: 83-98, esp. 90-92).

36 Levick, Julia Domna, 53-54, 78. Francesca Ghedini, Giulia Domna tra oriente e occidente: Le
fonti archeologiche (Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1984), 42. Charmaine Gorrie, “Julia Dom-

Honoring the Empress Julia Domna on Arch Monuments in Rome and North Africa

na’s Building Patronage, Imperial Family Roles and the Severan Revival of Moral Legislation,”

Historia: Zeitschrift fur Alte Geschichte 53, no. 1 (2004): 61-72.

37 On the addition of “Mother of the Senate and of the Fatherland” after the erasure of Plautilla’s
names, see Langford, Maternal Megalomania, 134-36.

38 Daguet-Gagey contextualizes this dedication among others by corporations ( collegia ) that bene-
fited from Severan reforms concerning their constitution (“L’arc des argentiers,” 499-519).

39 For bibliography, the debate, and the seemingly unrelated inscription found nearby, see Miihlen-
brock, Tetrapylon, 212-16. Newby, “Art at the Crossroads?,” 206-11. Kampen, Family Fictions,

82-103. Kahler, “Triumphbogen,” 436-37, 5.31c.

40 The patronage of these arches remains unclear. The identical inscriptions in honor of Tiberius do
not mention the arches that displayed them, but instead describe the street-paving project super-
vised by one of the patrons. Joyce M. Reynolds and John B. Ward-Perkins, eds., The Inscriptions
of Roman Tripolitania (Rome: British School at Rome, 1952), 100-101 (nos. 330, 331). Kahler,
“Triumphbogen,” 436, 5.31a.

41 Miihlenbrock, Tetrapylon, 207-9. Kahler, “Triumphbogen,” 436, 5.31b.

42 Miihlenbrock, Tetrapylon, 209-11.

43 Nodelman, “Severan Imperial Portraiture,” 134-35. Volker M. Strocka, “Beobachtungen an den
Attikareliefs des severischen Quadrifrons von Lepcis Magna,” Antiquites Africaines 6 (1972):

147-72. Elena La Rocca, “I rilievi minori dell’arco di Settimo Severo a Leptis Magna: Una
proposta di ricostruzione,” Prospettiva 43 (1985): 2-11.

44 Natalie Boymel Kampen, “Between Public and Private: Women as Historical Subjects in Roman
Art,” in Womens History and Ancient History, ed. Sarah Pomeroy (Chapel Hill: University of
North Carolina Press, 1991), 218-48. Kampen’s concern is with coercive ideology; I emphasize
here that the citizens of Lepcis Magna had their own reasons for taking up the theme of family
by representing the empress repeatedly.

45 For materials and estimated dimensions, Miihlenbrock, Tetrapylon, 212-13.

46 Although statues and sculptural programs do not survive with these arches, the tetrapylon at
neighboring Oea (Tripoli), financed by a local priest and politician for the co-emperors Mar-
cus Aurelius and Lucius Verus, had both relief sculptures and niches for statues on the piers.

Miihlenbrock, Tetrapylon, 216-17 (miniature tetrapyla at Lepcis); 218-24 (Oea).

47 Little is known about the urban development of Thevestis, although it did serve briefly as a base
for the legio III Augusta around 75 CE. Jean-Marie Bias de Robles, Sites et Monuments Antiques
de VAlgerie (Aix-en-Provence: Edisud, 2003), 220-234. Kahler, “Triumphbogen,” 441, 5.47a.

48 Lidiano Bacchielli, “II Testamento di C. Cornelio Egriliano ed il coronamento dell’arco di Cara-
calla a Tebessa,” IlAfrica Romana 4, no. 1 (1987): 295-321.

49 For archway measurements and materials, Miihlenbrock, Tetrapylon, 200-205. Most publica-
tions give the measurement 10.94 x 10.94 m for the ground level, although those numbers would
seem to exclude the projecting columns.

50 Only later was the arch incorporated into a city wall (539 CE). Bacchielli, “Il Testamento di C.

Cornelio Egriliano,” 296.

51 CIL 8.1856. Iuliae Domnae Aug(ustae) matri / castrorum et Aug(usti) et Sen(atus) et patriae.

52 For an overview of Cuicul’s development, the arch, its dimensions, and the differential treatment

Kimberly Cassibry

of its minor facades see Claudia Kleinwachter, Platzanlagen nordafrikanischer Stadte: Untersu-
chungen zum sogenannten Polyzentrimus in der Urbanistik der romischen Kaiserzeit (Mainz: Von
Zabern, 2001), 62-71, 107-108. See also Bias de Robles, Sites et Monuments Antiques de VAlgerie,
88-124.

53 Kahler, “Triumphbogen,” 430, 5.14b. CIL 8.8321. Imp. Cafes.] M. Aurelio Severo Antonino Pio
Felici Aug. / Parth[ic]o Maximo Britannico Max. Germanico max. / pont. [ma]x. trib. pot. XVIIII
cos. IIII imp. IIIp. p. procos. / et Julifae Djomnae Piae Felici Aug. matri eius et Senatus etpa / triae
et [castjrorum et Divo Severo Aug. Pio patri Imp. Caes. M. Aureli Se / veri Antfonini] Pii [Felicjis
Aug. arcum triumphalem a solo d. d. res p. fecit.

54 Bias de Robles, Sites et Monuments Antiques de VAlgerie, 109-10. For freestanding arches mar-
king urban boundaries, A. L. Frothingham Jr., “De la veritable signification des monuments
romains qu’on appelle arcs de triomphe,’” Revue Archeologique, 4th ser., 6 (1905): 216-30.

55 Martina Risse, Volubilis: Eine romische Stadt in Marokko von der Fruhzeit bis in die islamische
Periode (Mainz: Von Zabern, 2001), 52-57.

56 Kahler, “Triumphbogen,” 432, 5.17. CIL 8.9993, 9996, 21828. Imp. Caes. M. [A]ur[ellio Antojnino
Pio Felici A[ ug. Parth.] Max. Britt. [M]ax. Germ. Max. / pontifici max. tri[b pot. XX imp.] IIII cos.
IIII p. p. pfrocos.] et Juliae A[u]g. Piae Felici Matri / Aug. [e]t castrorufm et Senat]us et patriae
resp. [Volubtil]itanorum ob singularem eius / er[g]a universos [et novam] supra omnes r[etro prin]
cipes indulgentiam arcum/ c[u]m seiugibus e[t orname]ntis omnibus in[staurant]e et dedicante M.
Aurellio / Seba[s]teno pr[oc. Aug. d]evotissimo nufmini eorum a] solo fa[c]iendum cur[a]vit. Arch
inscriptions occasionally record the presence of the provincial governor or other imperial rep-
resentative for the dedication, which was an effective way to expand the community’s honorific
relationships.

57 For the regional tax relief, see Claude Domergue, “TArc de Caracalla a Volubilis: Le monument,
la decoration, Finscription,” Bulletin Archeologique du Comite des Travaux Historiques et Scienti-
fiques (1963-64): 201-29, esp. 223-28.

58 A lost arch marking the entrance to a sanctuary for Mercury in Civitas Vazitanarum (Tunisia)
also honored Caracalla and Julia Domna alone. Kahler, “Triumphbogen,” 428, 5.10 (Vazitana,
Tunisia).

59 Christiane Boube-Piccot, “Trophee damasquine sur une statue imperiale de Volubilis,” Bulletin
d’Archeologie Marocaine 6 (1966): 242-50.

60 For dimensions and materials (local limestone from the Zerhoun massif), Domergue, “LArc
de Caracalla,” 201-29. A single-bay arch at (long-buried) Pompeii also incorporated fountains.
Kahler, “Triumphbogen,” 410, 2.17d.

6 1 Greg Woolf, “Monumental Writing and the Expansion of Roman Society in the Early Empire,”
Journal of Roman Studies 86 (1996): 22-39.

iiMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMii

The “Romanness of the Soldiers”: Barbarized
Periphery or Imperial Core?

Simon James

Surviving historical accounts record some striking instances of what happened when impe-
rial Romes soldiers ( milites ), overwhelmingly born and recruited in distant provinces, came
into contact for the first time with the people of Italy. In 69 CE, during the civil wars follow-
ing the death of Nero, Vitellius brought soldiers from Germany to secure the capital. His
Rhineland troops were swaggering and aggressive, even fighting amongst themselves, and
terrorized the civil population to whom they all, legionaries as well as provincial auxiliaries,
appeared dangerous aliens.1 To the people of the city, Vitellius’s strangely garbed milites
became targets of ridicule and, in an instant, figures of terror: some soldiers responded to
mocking and attempted robbery with lethal violence.2 Soon after, when Vespasian’s eastern
legions fought the Vitellians in the Po Valley, they proved themselves equally alien to Italy,
manifesting the oriental custom of hailing the rising sun,3 and showing no empathy for
their fellow Roman citizens when they savagely sacked Cremona as though it were a bar-
barian stronghold.4

Similarly, when in 193, during the civil wars triggered by the death of the emperor Corn-
modus, the imperial contender Septimius Severus sent troops from his Danubian armies
into the city of Rome, they caused consternation among the people of the capital.5 Because
of their uncouth speech, boorish manners, and strange dress, these Roman soldiers were
not perceived as “our brave troops” but seemed literally outlandish: contemporary images
of such milites suggest their garb was indeed little different from that of northern barbar-
ians being sold in the slave markets (fig. 6.1) — yet these men, some of whom were second
or even first generation “barbarians” in imperial service, were not subdued captives but
armed, arrogant, and dangerous alien-looking agents loose on the streets.

To Romans of Rome, then, it appeared by the year 200 that Roman soldiers, from armies
long stationed on the frontiers of far-flung provinces, had become “barbarized.” Even cit-
izen legionaries were now hardly recognizable as fellow Romans, let alone the provincial
auxiliaries who came to form the majority of the military. Indeed most serving imperial
auxiliaries were not (yet) Roman citizens, but recruited provincials, while some really were
barbarian-born conscripts or volunteers. Yet all these were formally Roman milites, under
oath to the emperor and on the imperial payroll.

The unfolding story of imperial Romes milites and their culture during the Principate,
from Augustus’s establishment of permanent standing armies to the great military crisis

Simon James

6.1. The “Antonine revolution” in Roman military dress, and its primary source in the dress of northern “settled
barbarian" peoples. Left: Crave stela of the centurion Minucius, found at Padua, probably 40s BCE. He wears
the traditional short Italian tunic, which leaves the limbs exposed. Center: A Danubian German of the 2nd
century CE from the Column of Marcus Aurelius at Rome. He is clad in a long-sleeved tunic, close-fitting
breeches, and a sagum fastened at the shoulder by a brooch. Right: A Roman soldier of around 300 CE, wearing
the “barbarian”-style military clothing ensemble adopted during the 2nd century, depicted on a mosaic from

Piazza Armerina, Sicily.

of the third century which saw the collapse of the Augustan order and the beginnings of
Byzantine autocracy, offers an excellent case study for the issues at the heart of the present
book and exhibition. It is highly pertinent to the notions of “cultural peripheries,” and of a
“core” providing a frame of reference against which the nature and degree of conformity,
divergence, or deviance of the peripheries may be judged. Specifically, I would argue that
imperial soldiers represent one of the most important, yet unduly neglected, of all cases
across the wider Roman world of evolving “Romanness.” (I prefer “Romanness” to the now
widely used form “ romanitas ” because it is mainly a later term, not a Roman one: the word
was apparently unknown before c. 200 CE.6)

The “Romanness of the soldiers” has been neglected, and profoundly misunderstood,
precisely because it has long been considered peripheral in multiple senses. Firstly, notwith-
standing the thousands of Praetorians and other imperial guards in the city itself, the vast
majority of Romes soldiers were literally peripheral in geographic terms, stationed along
the distant limites of the empire. Secondly, they are widely seen as strongly divergent from
an Italian yardstick of “Romanness,” because they were culturally mongrelized by having
been recruited from more “primitive and barbaric” peoples around the frontiers. Thirdly
and by no means least, the soldiers were — and often still are — seen as crude, vulgar, and
uncultured, lacking knowledge or understanding of the metropolitan elite culture which
has long provided our yardstick for Roman civilization; this is, then, a matter of class dis-
tinction (plus ancient and modern snobbery) as well as ethnic contrasts.

However, I will argue that the true dynamics and significance of the case of the soldiers
effectively turn this received picture on its head, making us question the very concepts of
core and periphery, and the fundamental nature of Roman culture and identity. This claim
may seem paradoxical, because archaeology provides plentiful evidence — artifacts, visual
representations, epigraphy, and subliterary texts — with which to cross-check the picture
provided by writers like Tacitus and Dio, all of which seems on first impression simply to
corroborate the image of the soldiers presented by the surviving ancient historical literature.

The “Romanness of the Soldiers”: Barbarized Periphery or Imperial Core?

6.2. Painting of Julius Terentius, Temple of the Palmyrene Cods, Dura-Europos (in situ), 1930-31.

“Barbarian” Soldiers

Indeed, Yales collections and archives preserve archaeologically recovered testimony as well
as objects that offer us one of the best pictures we have from anywhere in the empire for
the life and culture of a body of Roman soldiers of the third century CE: that of the urban
garrison of Dura-Europos on the Syrian Euphrates. Garrison and city perished in a Sasanian
siege c. 256 CE, the site then remaining largely abandoned and undisturbed until its redis-
covery in 1920. The most vivid single piece of evidence is, perhaps, the wall painting known
as “the sacrifice of Terentius” from the Temple of the Palmyrene Gods (fig. 6. 2). 7 This shows
a body of Roman troops attending a sacrifice to a group of divine figures at left. The sword-
armed officiant is labeled in good Latin script as “Julius Terentius, tribune,” clearly situating
the scene in a Roman military milieu: indeed, other texts recovered from the site show that
Terentius was present in the city in the 230s and that he commanded probably the largest
Roman unit based at Dura, the 1000-strong cohors XX Palmyrenorum, an auxiliary force
comprising infantry, cavalry, and camel-borne troops.8

Beyond the altar on which Terentius offers incense, a standard bearer holds the regimen-
tal banner ( vexillum ), while behind the tribune are ranks of other soldiers witnessing the
rite. However, beyond the officiant’s very Roman name and specified military rank written
in Latin and the vexillum, there is little here that would indicate to, say, an Augustan mili-
tary tribune or centurion that we are looking at Roman soldiers at all. Every mortal figure
is clad in shoulder-fastening cloak, tunic with long close-fitting sleeves, and, perhaps most
noteworthy, trousers or rather close-fitting hose with sewn-in feet. This ensemble (corrobo-
rated by other textual, representational, and archaeological data from Dura and elsewhere)
comprises garments alien to republican Roman tradition; indeed, such dress had long been
specifically associated with barbarians. The square cloak ( sagum ), long-sleeved tunics, and
trousers were the archetypal barbarian garb, connoting wild, undisciplined Gauls and Ger-
mans, and bizarre easterners like Parthians (fig. 6.1, center).

L»'

Simon James

The deities who are the apparent objects of sacrifice are also distinctly exotic. Neither
Roman state gods nor imperial cult feature here: Terentius offers to a triad of Palmyrene
deities, along with the Tychai (Greek goddesses of Fortune) of Palmyra and of Dura itself.9
This scene, then, depicts a Palmyrene “ethnic” unit of the Roman armies sacrificing to dei-
ties of its mother city (140 miles to the west across the dry steppe) within a Palmyrene
sanctuary at Dura; from a traditional Roman perspective it shows semi-barbarian soldiers,
in barbarous dress, worshipping alien deities. Further, although by the time the Terentius
scene was painted (in the third century CE) all serving auxiliaries had been made Roman
citizens along with most other provincials by Caracalla, the epigraphic and papyrological
evidence from Dura suggests that these milites likely still spoke Semitic dialects as their first
language. They will have conversed with their superiors, and with the Syrian-born legionar-
ies who shared the urban base with them, in the Greek koine of the eastern empire. Probably
few of Dura’s soldiers knew much Tatin beyond stock military phrases and commands,
except for their commander and the scribe who labeled him in the painting.

The exceptional assemblage of military artifacts recovered from Dura adds intriguing
twists to the story. Alongside weapons and armor, it includes hundreds of elaborated metal
fasteners, attachments, and purely decorative pieces (fig. 6.3, plates 60, 62-65). 10 Mostly sim-
ple “openwork” copper alloy castings, these — significantly — are generally of types known
from Roman military sites across the empire, along the Danube and Rhine, in Britain and
Africa. During the second century CE these openwork fittings generally replaced the solid
plate types of the earlier Principate. Archaeological associations and contemporary depic-
tions show that they come from soldiers’ waist-belts and sword-baldrics, items symbolizing
military service and offering prominent fields for visual display, or from cavalry-horse har-
nesses, which again provided opportunities to show off military wealth and style (fig. 6.4).

Such fittings, then, are material correlates of a common culture shared by imperial sol-
diers across the empire, and they exhibit a fairly standard repertoire of design and decor
(if not quite uniform in either the general or modern military sense). Some of them fea-
ture overtly Roman or generally classical motifs, such as Jupiter’s eagle, pelta- or ivy-leaf
ornament, or Latin (sometimes Greek) texts. However, other such dress fittings represent
another decorative tradition entirely.

Middle imperial fittings

6.3. Examples of military dress and harness fittings of the i5t century CE compared with their later 2nd- to earlier 3rd-century
equivalents. A: Soldier's belt-buckle, B: Belt plate, C: Horse-harness strap junction, D: Horse-harness strap connector (all from
Vindonissa, Switzerland), E: Buckle loop, F: Small frame buckle, C and H: Buckle plates, I: Baldric fastener, j and K: Horse-harness
strap connectors (A-D: after Unz and Deschler-Erb 1997; E-J: from Dura-Europos, after James 2003; K [not to scale]: after Chirila

et al. 1972).

The “Romanness of the Soldiers”: Barbarized Periphery or Imperial Core?

6.4. Representations of Roman soldiers of the first half of the 3rd century CE, showing their prominent sword
baldrics and waist belts with decorative metal fittings. A: Stela of Aurelius Surus, bucinator of legio I Adiutrix,

B: Unknown, Rome, C: Tombstone of M. Aurelius Lucianus, Rome, D: Unknown, holding strap ends, funerary
relief, from Herakleia-Perinthos, E: Sasanian relief depicting Roman emperor, probably Valerian, Bishapur II, F.
Sasanian relief depicting Roman emperor, probably Philip, Bishapur II (A and D: Istanbul Museum; B-C: after

Bishop and Coulston 1993; E-F: after Herrmann 1983).

Some of the fittings from Dura, including parts of belts and bridles, are embellished
in “trumpet ornament,” a highly characteristic sinuous style. Circular examples may
exhibit rotary symmetry (plates 62-63). Such pieces often suggest “Celtic art” to modern
eyes, being derivations of European Iron Age La Tene style, and indeed earlier Roman-
era archaeological finds indicate the origins of the Roman examples are to be sought in
pre-Roman central or western Europe.11 But what are “Celtic-style” pieces doing on the
Syrian frontier? In fact trumpet-ornament pieces commonly comprise a proportion of such
fittings recovered from third-century Roman military sites right across the empire as far as
Britain. This phenomenon most likely represents a familiar process among soldiers down
to our own time: acquisition and general adoption of enemy or allied military kit because
it is deemed better, or copying of foreign style because it has cachet (e.g., associations of
particular skills or courage) — or simply because it is novel. Well-known examples include
the craze to copy Hungarian hussar cavalry in the eighteenth century, American Civil War
regiments imitating French colonial Zouave troops, and so on down to the case of a British
soldier friend of mine who, working with American troops in Afghanistan, swapped some
British kit for a US Army Gore- Tex® jacket.12

Simon James

In the case of Roman military trumpet- ornament fittings, we can probably trace the
introduction of these to recruitment of soldiers, especially cavalry, from upper Danubian or
Rhineland peoples, men entering Roman service with their native kit. This was spread round
the empire as such units were posted abroad, and the style was taken up by other Roman
troops who admired it. Further, such “Celticizing” artifacts are the material correlates of a
much broader impact of these western provincials or “barbarians” on Roman martial cul-
ture, which included adoption of styles of fighting, tactics, and other military practices, plus
associated technical language. Arrian records how many Roman cavalry maneuvers and the
terminology describing them were drawn from “Celtic” peoples and their languages.13

This “Celtic” component, then, is actually just the tip of an iceberg of foreign cultural
importations and integrations into Roman martial culture during the Principate. There is
reason to believe that the basic idea of simple yet strong cast-openwork fittings originally
came to central and western Europe from the steppe, where they were already used by Sar-
matian horse peoples (also the likely inspiration for similar openwork fittings used in the
Parthian Empire). A steppe origin is also postulated for a range of other military equipment
appearing in Roman use in the second century CE.

Many of the new openwork fittings are from baldrics, a new type of belt for suspending
the sword that appeared in Roman use as a package with a new kind of scabbard attachment.
The familiar ring-attached scabbard of the earlier empire was displaced by the scabbard
slide, through which ran a strap tied to a ring projecting behind a large plate on the front
of the baldric (fig. 6.4F). In Roman use this arrangement was worn as a shoulder belt: how-
ever, originally it was designed as a waist-belt system for carrying the long blades favored
by steppe cavalrymen, a system the Romans adopted and adapted to suit infantrymen too.14

Adoption of the scabbard slide and baldric by milites was broadly contemporary with the
appearance in Roman service of other things known to have been in steppe use at the time,
e.g., ring-pommel swords which became a short-lived Roman fashion, and a more enduring
adoption of dragon-headed windsock standards, plus the introduction of armored lancers
(cataphracts). These innovations have been deemed to result from intense second-century
fighting with, and large-scale recruitment from, Sarmatian peoples leading to postulation of
a major episode of “Sarmatization” of Roman military culture.15 In my view, we may still be
missing a major part of the story: we know far less about Romes major martial interactions
with the great Parthian Empire across the Euphrates, where Rome encountered cataphracts
long before it did on the Danube. The Parthians also used the scabbard slide, and apparently

dragon standards as well.16

If the details are still revealing themselves,
the evidence nevertheless seems strongly to
support the received image of profound “bar-
barization” of the soldiers — the Roman culture
they had inherited from legionaries of Augus-
tus’s new standing provincial armies becoming
gradually attenuated, diluted, and garbled on
the distant territorial peripheries of the empire.
To be sure, we can certainly interpret these
cultural processes as comprising a substantial
“de-Italianization” of Roman martial culture,
with decline of recruitment in Italy in the first
century CE being followed in the second by
partial replacement of received Italian martial
culture by practices, equipment, and associated

useum, i-4bo.

6.5. A soldier’s patriotism, written on the body. A military cloak
brooch in copper alloy openwork, later 2nd-mid-3rd century CE, 35
mm diameter, from Novae, Moesia, shown as found (top left),
reconstructed (top right), and its ligatured text expanded (bottom).

The “Romanness of the Soldiers”: Barbarized Periphery or Imperial Core?

jargon drawn from provincial and even foreign recruits. This might indeed be regarded as
“provincialization” and “barbarization.”

Nevertheless, I also argue that, paradoxically, the development of Roman military culture
from the reign of Augustus to the mid-third century actually represents not “degeneration
of proper Roman culture,” but vigorous continuity of a deeply felt and strongly self-aware
“Romanness.” That the milites regarded themselves as staunch Romans is clear in the his-
torical record, and archaeology shows how soldiers literally wrote their patriotism on their
bodies. Military cloak-brooches are known from Europe, simply proclaiming ROMA (fig.
6.5), analogous to the national flag patches on modern combat uniforms, while a widely
attested design for the fittings soldiers wore on their prominent sword-belts proclaimed:
“[Jupiter] Best [and] Greatest protect [us] a regiment of fighting men all.”17

Further, this frontier- centered, military “Romanness” has every ground to be consid-
ered just as authentic as that of the people of the city itself. Indeed, many third- century
soldiers may well have felt that they — especially the men in the ranks of legions founded by
Augustus himself— were the true curators of traditional republican Roman cultural values,
rather than the population of the city, whether slaves or even senators. And as I will further
argue, this was more than the anachronistic conservatism often observable among long- es-
tablished expatriate communities, who cling onto ways their parent societies have long
since abandoned. I think that the third-century soldiers would have had a real point, which
the deified Augustus, could he have seen them from his divine vantage point, would have
accepted — and then perhaps wondered what he had set in motion two centuries earlier...

Cultural Convergence in the Early Empire

The sun-drenched civil “glory that was imperial Rome” during the Principate, that key
achievement which since the Renaissance the West has so admired, and which the Romans
and Greek provincial writers of the Antonine Age itself so celebrated, was centered on a great
flourishing of urban civilization in Italy and the Mediterranean provinces, also extending to
some regions beyond, e.g., Gaul and even Britain. This efflorescence of civic life was made
possible by the celebrated pax Romana, one of the key lasting successes of the Augustan
revolution, generally effective in banishing war from the geographical core of the empire for
two centuries. Of course there were some bouts of civil war and instances of terrible carnage,
notably in Judea, routine brutal treatment of slaves, and extensive internal oppression, but
nevertheless political stability clearly paid massive dividends to many. This unprecedented
internal peace and cultural development was underpinned by the central pact of empire, be-
tween an emergent cosmopolitan civil aristocracy, the emperor, and his soldiers, who acted
as guarantors of the imperial order in return for their maintenance through taxation.18

Within the prosperous “core” provinces of the early empire, the dominant process was
the evolution of a convergent elite culture based on integration of the Italian and provincial
landed elites who ran local government, enforced law, collected taxes, and through civic
leadership and benefactions drove the development of new cities — or redevelopment of
existing towns along more Roman lines. Whether Gauls or Spaniards, Africans or Syrians,
these local bigwigs were allied with each other and with the Roman state. They formed an
empire-wide ruling class, increasingly integrated, both internally (through adoption of a
shared elite culture), and with the imperial regime through acquiring the Roman citizen-
ship already held by their Italian peers.19

Not just Roman citizenship, but equestrian and senatorial status soon spread to leading
provincials. During the second century CE senators of provincial origin reached the impe-
rial throne itself. By the third century, “Romanness” was no longer tied to the city, or even
to Italy: from 212 Roman citizenship was almost universal throughout the provinces, while
the empires statesmen, jurists, generals, and emperors increasingly came from places like

Simon James

Spain, Provence, Africa, and Syria. We will return later to the implications of this for notions
of “core” and “periphery,” especially for the empire of the second and third centuries.

This history of cultural change and integration has, for a century, been understood
in terms of an acculturative process of “Romanization” — of provincials becoming Roman
through uncritical adoption of a Roman cultural package, of values, material culture, lan-
guage, and sense of identity; but that different groups achieved this one-way transition with
highly varied degrees of comprehension, competence, and success, resulting in multiple
levels, and various manifestations, of “Romanization.”20 However, with good reason, such
an interpretation has come under intense critical attack in recent decades.21 Above all, it
was at the outset a deeply colonialist conception, envisaging Roman culture as something
innately superior that “more primitive peoples” would race to adopt; it allowed them no
agency. It also widely presumed that there was a coherent “Roman (core) culture” for the
grateful provincials to imitate, doing so more or less “correctly.” In recent times such crude
views of simple unidirectional acculturation have been widely abandoned. Nevertheless
some have continued to maintain that, despite its colonialist baggage, the term “Roman-
ization” still has value, in that the process did constitute convergence of provincial societ-
ies toward common cultural characteristics emanating from the geographical core of the
empire; and that this process was “Romanizing” in that it was taking place within an impe-
rial system ruled by Rome, and not least that almost everyone in the empire came to be
legally Roman, as citizens.22

Whatever we choose to label the process of convergence and integration of Romes civil
provinces, it is clear that it was primarily an elite-led phenomenon. Typically, the emperor
delegated local power to favored indigenous landed magnates, who oversaw the donkeywork
of administration, law enforcement, and tax collection, with the ever-watchful imperial
power ready to crush rebellion, or resistance to (or from) these provincial agents. The favored
provincial few, typically the first to acquire Roman citizenship, used the wealth accumulating
from privilege to buy into the existing common aristocratic lifestyle and value system of the
imperial core, establishing and advertising themselves as members of the empires power
structure. However, in terms of content it is now generally understood that this medium of
elite convergence actually comprised Greek rather than native-Roman or Italic cultural tra-
ditions. It was articulated around Hellenic education and Greek values: paideia.23

Indeed, much of what we think of as archetypically Roman, e.g., in private and public
architecture (like underfloor heating systems, mosaics, Corinthian capitals), was actually
Hellenistic Greek (or, in the case of amphitheaters, Campanian) in origin, adopted and
naturalized as Roman. This was a process well underway in the later republic, but none-
theless in Augustan times and beyond much still comprised recent or new importations to
Roman culture, not hallowed traditions from the early republic. Romes desire for cultural
validation in relation to the established prestige of Greek culture was cemented in Augus-
tus’s reign through creation of the national epic, the Aeneid, which affirmed Roman origins
among Homers Trojans, at the wellhead of Hellenism. To this central Greek strand were
subsequently added many others from other Mediterranean cultures, most familiarly in
the field of religion: cults were widely adopted not just from the Greek world but also from
Egypt and the East.

Cultural convergence among the imperial elites themselves, then, was not necessarily or
primarily about “becoming Roman” for its own sake; it was more about establishing cre-
dentials of membership of the multi-ethnic ruling class within the empire, in terms which
were more Greek, or at most Greco-Roman, than Italian; and not least it was about empha-
sizing class distinction from subordinate groups. Like possession of Greek-style cultural
education ( paideia ), acquiring Roman citizenship was initially valuable as a status distinc-
tion, and passport to opportunities on the imperial stage; already-wealthy enfranchised

The “Romanness of the Soldiers”: Barbarized Periphery or Imperial Core?

provincial families could aspire to move rapidly to equestrian or even senatorial status, and
lucrative careers in imperial service for their sons.

(Wider observable convergence on versions of [Greco-] Roman culture clearly apparent
within the ranks of provincial societies proceeded by different mechanisms, whether emu-
lation and ambition for, or subversion of elite status distinctions, or selective self-expression
of subordinates through creation of cultural “creoles,” etc. These expressed and reflected a
reality of myriad “discrepant experiences” of empire. Such processes were also very import-
ant, but limitations of space oblige me to focus here on the dominant discourse of the power
and culture of the civil elite.24)

While considerable attention has been paid to cultural adoptions, innovations, and
transformations involved in the processes of integration between Italian/Roman and pro-
vincial elite culture, much less attention has been paid to something I believe to be of equal
importance: what the convergent elites (or for that matter other Roman citizens and even
the majority of free provincials) were obliged to abandon during this process.

The celebrated pax Romana was of course defended — and, where necessary, imposed —
by the soldiers. However, its establishment and maintenance also relied on something pro-
found and little discussed: hand-in-hand with creation of a standing, professional army
personally loyal to the emperor (who nobly took up the burden of imperial defense) went
effective demilitarization of Italy and the Mediterranean, for the first time ever. This cre-
ation of a virtual imperial monopoly on organized armed force did not (as widely misun-
derstood) involve general disarmament of civil populations in Italy or beyond: weapons
could be kept for personal protection. However, it did precipitate a profound redefinition of
the basis of free Roman masculinity.

The Centrality of War and Glory to Roman Culture

Augustan writers like Livy and Virgil extolled the mos maiorum, the ways of their republi-
can ancestors who had lived in a world of war. In terms both of “national” culture, and the
values of the male citizens who formed the body politic, republican Rome was, like its peers,
extremely warlike and became even more so during the third and second centuries BCE as
it victoriously overcame all other powers in the Mediterranean. Where Hellenistic Greeks
now widely employed professional soldiers, triumphant Rome still retained a citizen militia
army, in which ideology — the personal value-system of the soldiers and their commitment
to the state — generated a skilled ferocity in battle that more than compensated for relatively
amateurish senatorial command. Any propertied Roman citizen could expect to be called
to serve his country in war. His masculinity — his virtus, “real- manliness” — depended on a
deeply felt sense of personal honor, guaranteed by capacity for lethal armed violence when
threatened.25 This capacity was socially controlled by channeling it into military service for
the state, battle becoming the supreme arena for public demonstration of virtus. Middle
republican culture was profoundly permeated by war — or rather it was articulated around
successful war, manifested in the cult of Victory, and profitable war: Romes cityscape became
permeated with reminders of its triumphs, from the spoil-festooned mansions of generals
to the many “manubial” temples, i.e., shrines erected in thanks to the gods for fulfilment of
pre-battle vows, funded by the booty of victory.26

There is actually a major caveat here, in that bloodthirsty Roman rhetoric masked a
more complex reality in which the republics skills in alliance-building, and the relative
inclusiveness of Roman culture — to us still highly selective but appearing astonishingly
promiscuous to Greeks — seem to have been as fundamental to Roman success as victorious
warfare. This was the profoundly effective combination I have called the sword and open
hand.27 Nevertheless, ideologically it is difficult to overstate the centrality and importance of
martial values, military service, and glory to republican citizens, and to traditional Roman

Simon James

culture and identity. Against this background, the Augustan military reforms may be seen
to have had profound consequences.

Augustus effectively removed the obligation — or right, or opportunity — for most ordi-
nary Roman males to serve in the legions; now military service was the responsibility of a
smaller group of professionals.28 The new legions continued to be commanded by senato-
rial generals, but no longer as autonomous commanders: they were now merely frequently
rotated legates, deputies of the emperor, who received the soldiers’ oaths and monopolized
the glory. These changes achieved Augustus’s essential aim, of effectively breaking the dan-
gerous symbiosis between legionaries ambitious for glory and booty, and their generals’
ambitions for both plus power, which had torn the republic to pieces. Yet the Augustan
military reforms had other major outcomes certainly unintended by the first emperor.

Confining military participation to a subset of citizens serving as long-service profes-
sionals turned the majority of Roman male citizens into life-long civilians. For most free
Romans, the traditional expectation that they would spend much of their younger adult-
hood in military service was abolished. Young senators, too, found their traditional avenues
to demonstrating virtus compromised, because they could no longer aspire to victorious
autonomous generalship: the ultimate mark of aristocratic virtus, the granting of a triumph,
was now confined to members of the imperial family. For most, then, notions of mascu-
linity could no longer be framed around establishing virtus on the battlefield, and so had
to be redefined. Capacity for violence in defense of personal honor remained important,
and possession of weapons for personal security and hunting remained commonplace;
but henceforth civilian engagement in armed violence would be shaped not by the exigen-
cies of war, but limited to private mayhem regulated by the severity of law. Those who still

chose regardless to pursue formerly honorable routes to mas-
culine standing, through raiding and plunder, were henceforth
latrones: bandits.29

Augustus was aware of the dangers and sought to maintain
the martial spirit of Italians through reviving traditional mili-
tary ceremonies and games. However, ensuing demilitarization
of Italy and of the pacified, ungarrisoned “civil core” provinces
during the first century CE was an inevitable result of, and
indeed necessary condition for, success of the pax Romana:
stopping internal war, if not eliminating other forms of internal
violence so much as redefining some as criminal.

The “civilianized” Roman citizens whom Augustus thus
almost accidentally created nevertheless continued to cling
to the violently domineering ethos of the Roman Republic,
although now as cheering spectators rather than participants.
This was manifested in celebrating the victories of the emperor
and his distant armies, and in the brutal pleasures of the arena,
where gladiators continued to reproduce in lethally symbolic
form Roman triumphs over others, and their freedom to do
what they willed with the vanquished — including condemning
them to an elaborate public theater of death. It was this sig-
nificantly transformed Roman/Italian culture, still ideologically
militaristic yet practically demilitarized, which Augustus, prob-
ably without understanding the full long-term implications of
his revolution, bequeathed to the Mediterranean world.

Alongside stone amphitheaters, Rome and other now-
peaceful places continued to accrue monuments crowing over
victories, from the allegorical relief of Claudius subduing Bri-

6.6. Relief of Claudius subduing Britannia, 1st
century BCE, Aphrodisias.

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The “Romanness of the Soldiers”: Barbarized Periphery or Imperial Core?

tannia found in Aphrodisias (fig. 6.6) with its sexual symbolism of military domination, to
the starkly brutal realism of the scenes of enslavement, abuse, and slaughter of unarmed
men and women on the Column of Marcus in the city itself.30 For all the refinement and
sophistication of its lifestyle, the prosperity of its multiplying cities and the many artistic
accomplishments the modern West has long lauded, through the Antonine Age and beyond
the integrating cosmopolitan civil culture of the Roman Mediterranean still also reveled in
blood. Yet it was now normally unseen others who did most of the actual killing, in far-dis-
tant lands.

The Rome of the Soldiers

Augustus’s successful initiation of a stable Roman imperial culture based on integrating
provincials through the arts of peace, rather than dominating them with the sword, truly
represented a radical transformation, both of the provinces and of “Romanness” itself. In
harmony with the spirit of the Augustan era as a whole — revolution presented as restoration
of hallowed, idealized ancestral traditions — it ostensibly preserved the republic’s martial
ethos, while in practice diverting Italian cultural development onto an unprecedented de-
militarizing track, creating a new civil “Romanness” fundamentally different from the cul-
ture of the later republic.

Simultaneously, as the Italian citizenry became demilitarized, while Roman citizenship
spread rapidly to include people hitherto appalling to Italian Romans such as Gauls and Syr-
ians, in ideological terms the new professional citizen legionaries found themselves de facto
inheritors and guardians of the “core” martial ethos and traditions of republican Rome and
“Romanness.” This was at the levels both of the state and of the individual male citizen — and
especially at their intersection, i.e., demonstration of traditional virtus through exhibiting
aggression and courage in battle in service of the state. Ideologically, by comparison with
civilianized Italians and other geographically “core” provincials, who had effectively lost
their martial virtus, imperial legionaries could see themselves not just as “real” Romans but
effectively now as “Roman supermales.” For this new life-service professional-soldier subset
of the citizenry, their sense of identity and raison d’etre emphasized the martial aspect of
received Roman culture even more strongly than for Scipio’s or Marius’s legionaries, famed
soldiers who nevertheless still expected also to spend much of their adulthood as civilian
farmers or townsfolk.

The proudly curated traditional martial virtus of the new imperial legions then provided
the basis for rapprochement with frontier provincials, and indeed foreign peoples, through
recruitment and integration based on comparable “warrior” value systems. Julio-Claudian
armies recruited Spanish, Gallic, Thracian, Syrian, German, and even Parthian fighting
men as auxiliaries; not (yet) Roman citizens, but in status and identity also Roman soldiers.
An especially famous example was the Germanic Batavians, “our weapons and armor,”31
who supplied prodigious numbers of excellent troops instead of paying taxes in cash. Their
outstanding reputation exemplifies the mutual respect of legions and auxiliaries as fighting
men distinct from the civil population, even if, as soldiers of different corps still often do in
bars, they sometimes fought each other as well.32

This frontier-zone process of cultural integration between citizen legionaries and becom-
ing-citizen auxiliaries, based on shared (or at least compatible) warrior values, looked like
“barbarization” to Romans of Rome. Yet it was in fact a close analogue for Roman/Italian
integration with other Mediterranean societies: convergence of civil elites around common
Greek-derived cultural values in the civil provinces was paralleled in the armies by con-
vergence between Roman and selected provincial and “barbarian” groups based on com-
patible martial cultures. However, the martial process, articulated by rankers and junior
officers such as centurions who regulated evolving Roman military tradition, was also more

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Simon James

demotic than the civil-elite process, and therefore perceived not just as barbarizing, but
also as vulgar, by educated civilian writers writing for equestrian and senatorial audiences.33

Augustus’s Twin Descendant Romes

To summarize, the culture of the soldiers has often been perceived as a stunted, distorted,
barbarized, vulgarized, and peripheral branch off the true mainstream of Roman cultural
development. I take a very different view, that in conducting the radical surgery to the
body politic Augustus deemed essential to bringing stability to the war-torn empire, he
effectively bifurcated, into distinct martial and civil strands, a republican culture which
had hitherto been characterized by intimate integration of both — but that combination,
which had brought astonishing success to a city-state, in the circumstances of world empire
had become unsustainable. What we might characterize as the “supermilitarized Roman-
ness” of the new imperial soldiers, which articulated integration of citizen legionaries with
provincial and “barbarian” auxiliaries mainly in the frontier regions during the first two
centuries CE, was in effect the counterpart or reciprocal of the transforming “demilitarizing
Romanness” which formed the armature for simultaneous integration of Italy and the civil
provinces around the Mediterranean.

But even if this model of bifurcation of “republican Romanness” into distinct civil and
martial “imperial Romannesses” is accepted, beyond mere geographical terms, was one in
any deeper cultural sense really “core” and the other “peripheral”? Was either of them more
authentic than the other?

Any answer to these questions of course depends on what we think “authentic Roman-
ness” comprised. It is actually hard to identify many truly Roman cultural phenomena that
can be traced in continuity from early republic to late empire. So much of what is now
thought of as “quintessentially Roman,” from architectural styles, heating systems and baths
to gladiatorial games, comprised late republican importations from other Italian, or espe-
cially Hellenistic sources. Even Latin language fails, since half the empire always instead
employed Greek as the koine. There is, however, one trait which does seem to be truly
characteristically Roman, and to be retained through the many and varied transformations
of Rome over 1000 years, from largest Latin city-state to an imperial autocracy embracing
a Levantine monotheism. This is to be found in a comment by Polybius on “unbifurcated”
republican Rome at the height of its glory, having just eclipsed Hellenistic Greek power in
the Mediterranean: “no nation [other than the Romans] are so ready to adopt new fashions
and imitate what they see is better in others.”34

It is, I think, very significant that the context for this comment is military — Polybius’s
famous description of the republican army — and that the most celebrated example Polybius
offers of Roman openness to the foreign is a weapon, the famous gladius Hispaniensis, the
“Spanish sword” with which the legionaries almost literally carved out Romes Mediterra-
nean empire.35 The same phenomenon, as both a general cultural trait and specifically mil-
itary phenomenon, was echoed three centuries later by the Greek- speaking Roman officer
Arrian:

The Romans are worthy to be praised because they do not embrace [only]
their own native things. Thus, having chosen noble things from everywhere,
they made them their own. You would find that they take some armaments
from others — and indeed they are called “Roman,” because the Romans
especially use them. [They also take] soldierly exercises from others.36

Over time almost anything and anyone, including even ex-slaves, could become natural-
ized as “Roman.” To be sure, the process was always highly selective, yet this openness was
the most Roman of Roman traits, in sharp contrast to the ethnic exclusivity of the Greeks.

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The “Romanness of the Soldiers”: Barbarized Periphery or Imperial Core?

In practice both civil and military branches of imperial “Romanness” continued strongly to
exemplify this republican tradition of absorption of foreigners and foreign ways: “the open
hand.” Both “Romes” continued to embrace and naturalize as fully Roman material culture,
practices, and people deemed valuable, whether we are discussing “Celtic” belt fittings, Par-
thian horse-archers, Hellenistic medicine, Gallic landowners, or Syrian religions.

But to Augustus among his fellow gods, or to Scipio in the Elysian Fields, it is moot
which of the descendant “Romes” would have looked more recognizable. For if “military
Rome” increasingly took on the aspect of more and more outlandish foreigners like Ger-
mans, Sarmatians, and Parthians, it did vigorously maintain the fierce spirit of republican
martial virtus; while “civil Rome” had perforce abandoned this, even as it integrated groups
which earlier Romans had despised perhaps more than the wildest barbarian warriors
which continually fed into “military Rome”: Gauls “softened by peace,” “decadent” Greeks,
and “shifty” Syrians. In the process, “civil Rome” lost any vestige of a clear “Italian cultural
core”; by the third century, what constituted civil “Romanness” was decided in Antioch or
Alexandria, Ephesus or Carthage, Augusta Emerita or Lugdunum as much as in the city of
Rome — and even the emperors came from the provinces. Conversely, the very city itself,
and much of Italy, was largely populated by descendants of immigrants from the provinces
and beyond, brought in by ambition, imperial service, or enslavement; from top to bot-
tom, the citizen body of Italy in the second century was in “blood” very mixed, only partly
directly descended from the population of archaic Italy: genetically and culturally, the soci-
ety of the original heartland of the empire was, then, arguably as transformed and “mon-
grelized” as the armies. Further, the city itself was becoming, by 200, a backwater. For if
Rome s political core was the imperial court, then from the second century emperors spent
less and less time in the capital, and were more and more embedded among the soldiers.
The court was increasingly permeated by the culture of “military Rome,” as the state lost its
civil constitutional facade, under the Severans revealing itself as naked military autocracy.

The third century saw the political ascendancy of “military Rome,” ironically as a result
of its own bellicosity that inadvertently precipitated the rise of dangerous new powers
around the frontiers, from large new Germanic confederations to the mighty Sasanian
Empire. Fifty years of catastrophic conflicts with these powers, and also renewed civil wars
between Romes own armies and soldier- emperors risen from their ranks, resulted in the
new imperial order of the Dominate. The empire was reorganized on overtly militarized
lines, as a vast logistics system for the armies and soldier emperors. This marked, for a
while, the triumph of “military Rome” over “civil Rome,” an ascendancy only gradually
attenuated, especially by the growing power of the church.

In my view, “imperial Romanness” was bifurcated at the outset, resulting in divergent
evolutions of “civil” and “military Romes,” each rooted in the republican past, but repre-
senting distinct and different aspects of the Roman tradition, one emphasizing the open
hand, the other the sword. Nevertheless, both “Romes” worked through the characteristi-
cally Roman tradition of selective integration of neighboring societies and cultures, albeit
each engaging with a different set of neighbors, radically different from each other in geo-
graphical location and culture. Subsequently, “civil Rome” became regionalized and geo-
graphically “decentered”; “military Rome” may largely have been geographically peripheral
to “civil Rome,” yet it became politically dominant and culturally influential throughout the
Roman world. How useful, then, is the notion of “core and periphery” for thinking about
the Roman Empire? I suggest that, as with “Romanization,” it is time to move on to new
conceptual frameworks that may better describe the cultural dynamics of the Roman world.

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Simon James

I am grateful to Lisa Brody and Gail Hoffman for inviting me to contribute to the present vol-
ume. Thanks also to Louise Revell who first alerted me to the fact that the term “romanitas” is, in
effect, “cod Latin.”

1 Tac., Hist. 1.64, 2.27, 2.66, 2.69, 2.74, 2.88.

2 Tac., Hist. 2.88.

3 Tac., Hist. 3.24.

4 Tac., Hist. 3.33.

5 Cass. Dio 75.2.6.

6 The word “ romanitas ” is first attested in Tertullian’s On the Mantle ( De Pallio) 4.1, written some-
time around 200 CE — and it was used pejoratively of his fellow citizens in Carthage who were
aping Roman culture. Whether or not, as some have suggested, Tertullian coined the word
himself (e.g., Bernard Green, Christianity in Ancient Rome: The First Three Centuries [London:
T&T Clark, 2010], 129; Bruce W. Winter, Roman Wives, Roman Widows: The Appearance of New
Women and the Pauline Communities [Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 2003], 5nll), if it
existed at all before his time, it was evidently not in wide circulation, occurring in no earlier
surviving classical source. I therefore follow Winter, and others like Louise Revell ( Roman Impe-
rialism and Local Identities [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009], xi), in avoiding this
authentic-sounding, but effectively spurious and certainly anachronistic term when discussing
the cultural dynamics of the early to middle Roman Empire.

7 James Henry Breasted, “Peintures depoque Romaine dans le desert de Syrie,” Syria 3 (1922):
177-206; Breasted, Oriental Forerunners of Byzantine Painting: First-Century Wall Paintings from
the Fortress of Dura on the Middle Euphrates (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1924); Franz
Cumont, ‘“Le sacrifice du tribun romain Terentius’ et les Palmyreniens a Doura,” Monuments et
Memoires 26 (1923): 1-46; Cumont, Fouilles de Doura-Europos 1922-3 (Paris: Geuthner, 1926),
89-114, table 6, plates 49-51.

8 On references to Terentius, and the cohors XX Palmyrenorum, see C. Bradford Welles, “The Ep-
itaph of Julius Terentius,” Harvard Theological Review 34 (1941): 79-102; Robert Fink, “The Co-
hors XX Palmyrenorum, a Cohors Equitata Miliaria ,” Transactions and Proceedings of the Amer-
ican Philological Association 78 (1947): 159-70; John Gilliam, “The Cohors XX Palmyrenorum:
Its History” in Excavations at Dura-Europos 1928-1937: Final Report 5, Part 1; The Parchments
and Papyri, ed. C. Bradford Welles, Robert Fink, and John Gilliam (New Haven: Yale University
Press, 1959), 26-28; David Kennedy, “The Cohors XX Palmyrenorum at Dura Europos,” in The
Roman and Byzantine Army in the East, ed. E. Dabrowa (Krakow: Uniwersytet Jagielloriski, Ins-
tytut Historii, 1994), 89-98.

9 Identifications of the three male figures have long been debated, some arguing that they were
emperors; however, that they actually represent a Palmyrene divine triad is, in my view, now
secure: Ted Kaizer, “A Note on the Fresco of Julius Terentius from Dura-Europos,” in Altertum
und Mittelmeerraum: Die antike Welt disseits und jenseits der Levant, ed. Robert Rollinger and
Brigitte Truschnegg (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2006), 151-59.

10 Simon James, Excavations at Dura-Europos 1928-1937: Final Report 7; The Arms and Armour
and Other Military Equipment (London: British Museum, 2004), nos. 1-369.

1 1 Nancy Netzer, “The ‘Celtic’ Bronzes from Dura-Europos: Connections to Britain,” in Dura-Eu-
ropos: Crossroads of Antiquity, ed. Lisa R. Brody and Gail L. Hoffman, exh. cat. (Chestnut Hill:

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The “Romanness of the Soldiers”: Barbarized Periphery or Imperial Core?

McMullen Museum of Art, Boston College, 2011), 283-94.

12 On these processes, see Thomas S. Abler, Hinterland Warriors and Military Dress: European Em-
pires and Exotic Uniforms (Oxford: Berg, 1999).

13 On Roman adoption of Celtic cavalry evolutions and terminology: Arr., Tact. 43.2 and 32.3 re-
spectively.

14 On adoption of the scabbard slide see Simon James, Rome and the Sword: How Warriors and
Weapons Shaped Roman History (London: Thames and Hudson, 2011), 182, 189, 213, 215.

15 Jon Coulston, “Tacitus, Historiae 1.79 and the Impact of Sarmatian Warfare on the Roman
Empire,” in Kontakt — Kooperation — Konflikt: Germanen und Sarmaten zwischen dem 1. and 4.
Jahrhundert nach Christus, ed. Claus von Carnap-Bornheim (Marburg: Wachholz, 2003), 415-
33.

16 On Partho-Sasanian influence on Roman martial material culture see Simon James, “The Im-
pact of Steppe Peoples and the Partho-Sasanian World on the Development of Roman Military
Equipment and Dress, 1st to 3rd centuries AD,” in Arms and Armour as Indicators of Cultural
Transfer: The Steppes and the Ancient World from Hellenistic Times to the Early Middle Ages,
ed. Markus Mode and Jurgen Tubach (Wiesbaden: Reichert, 2006), 357-92. In an apparently
overlooked passage, Lucian’s satirical How to Write History includes a scathing attack on another
writers hyperbolic, distorted account of Parthian dragon standards he had never actually seen,
but which Lucian himself evidently knew about: “Another entertaining person, who has never
set foot outside Corinth, nor travelled as far as its harbour — not to mention seeing Syria or Ar-
menia— starts with words which impressed themselves on my memory: — ‘Seeing is believing: I
therefore write what I have seen, not what I have been told.’ His personal observation has been
so close that he describes the Parthian ‘Dragons’ (they use this ensign as a numerical formula — a
thousand men to the Dragon, I believe): they are huge live dragons, he says, breeding in Persian
territory beyond Iberia; these are first fastened to great poles and hoisted up aloft, striking terror
at a distance while the advance is going on; then, when the battle begins, they are released and
set on the enemy; numbers of our men, it seems, were actually swallowed by them, and others
strangled or crushed in their coils; of all this he was an eye-witness, taking his observations,
however, from a safe perch up a tree. Thank goodness he did not come to close quarters with
the brutes! We should have lost a very remarkable historian, and one who did doughty deeds in
this war with his own right hand; for he had many adventures, and was wounded at Sura (in the
course of a stroll from the Craneum to Lerna, apparently). All this he used to read to a Corinthi-
an audience, which was perfectly aware that he had never so much as seen a battle-picture. Why,
he did not know one weapon or engine from another; the names of manoeuvres and formations
had no meaning for him; flank or front, line or column, it was all one” (Lucian, “The Way to
Write History,” in The Works of Lucian of Samosata, trans. H. W. Fowler and F. G. Fowler, vol. 2
[Oxford: Clarendon, 1905], 124).

17 Translated by Lindsay Allason- Jones. For an example of a baldric fastener from such a set, see
Allason-Jones, “An Eagle Mount from Carlisle,” Saalburg Jahrbuch 42 (1986): 68-69.

18 I have explored this “pact of empire” more fully in Rome and the Sword, 1 18-21, 163-66, 198-99,
222, 250.

19 Nicola Terrenato, “The Romanization of Italy: Global Acculturation or Cultural BricolageU,’ in
TRAC 97: Proceedings of the 7th Annual Theoretical Roman Archaeology Conference, Nottingham
1997, ed. Colin Forcey, John Hawthorne, and Robert Witcher (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 1998),

105

Simon James

20-27; Terrenato, “ Tam Firmum Municipium : The Romanization of Volaterrae and Its Cultural
Implications,” Journal of Roman Studies 88 (1998): 94-114; Terrenato, “A Tale of Three Cities:
The Romanization of Northern Coastal Etruria,” in Italy and the West: Comparative Issues in
Romanization, ed. Simon Keay and Nicola Terrenato (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2001), 54-67; Greg
Woolf, “Becoming Roman, Staying Greek: Culture, Identity and the Civilizing Process in the Ro-
man East,” Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society 40 (1994): 1 16-43; Woolf, Becoming
Roman: The Origins of Provincial Civilization in Gaul (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1998).

20 Mommsens term Romanisierung was developed in the Anglophone world as “Romanization”
by Haverfield (e.g., Francis Haverfield, The Romanization of Roman Britain [London: Henry
Frowde, 1906]); see Richard Hingley, The Recovery of Roman Britain 1586-1906: A Colony So
Fertile (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 315-17.

21 There are many critiques of “Romanization,” notably by David J. Mattingly in Dialogues in Ro-
man Imperialism: Power, Discourse and Discrepant Experience in the Roman Empire, ed. David
J. Mattingly (Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 1997): Mattingly, An Imperial Posses-
sion: Britain in the Roman Empire, 54 BC-AD 409 (London: Penguin, 2007).

22 See, notably, Keay and Terrenato, Italy and the West.

23 Woolf, “Becoming Roman, Staying Greek”; Becoming Roman.

24 Jane Webster and Nick Cooper, eds., Roman Imperialism: Post-Colonial Perspectives (Leicester:
School of Archaeological Studies, University of Leicester, 1996); Mattingly, Dialogues in Roman
Imperialism-, Jane Webster, “Creolizing the Roman Provinces,” American Journal of Archaeology
105, no. 2 (2001): 209-25.

25 Myles McDonnell, Roman Manliness: Virtus and the Roman Republic (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2006).

26 James, Rome and the Sword, 77.

27 Ibid., 109, 143-44, 178, 205-7, 278-83.

28 Lawrence Keppie, The Making of the Roman Army: From Republic to Empire (London: Batsford,
1984); James, Rome and the Sword, 126-28.

29 Imperial transformations of virtus among civilians: James, Rome and the Sword, 168-69; crimi-
nalization of forms of armed violence: ibid., 163.

30 Kenan T. Erim, “A Relief Showing Claudius and Britannia from Aphrodisias,” Britannia 13
(1982): 277-81. Hermann Petersen, Alfred von Domaszewski, and Guglielmo Calderini, Die
Marcus-Saule auf Piazza Colonna in Rom (Munich: Bruckmann, 1896); Iain M. Ferris, Hate and
War: The Column of Marcus Aurelius (Stroud: History Press, 2008).

31 Tac., Germ. 29.

32 Willem Willems, Romans and Batavians (Amersfoort: ROB, 1983); Johan Nicolay, “Interpreting
Roman Military Equipment and Horse Gear from Non-Military Contexts: The Role of Veterans,”
in Jahresbericht 2001: ROMEC XIII 2001, ed. Erhardt Deschler-Erb (Bruges: Vindonissa Muse-
um, 2002), 53-65; Carol van Driel-Murray, “Imperial Soldiers: Recruitment and the Formation
of Batavian Tribal Identity,” in Proceedings of the 19th Congress of Roman Frontier Studies, Pecs
2003, ed. Zsolt Visy (Pecs: University of Pecs, 2005), 435-39; Johan Nicolay, Armed Batavians:
Use and Significance of Weaponry and Horse Gear from Non-Military Contexts in the Rhine Delta
(50 BC to AD 450) (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2007).

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The “Romanness of the Soldiers”: Barbarized Periphery or Imperial Core?

33 E.g., Iiro Kajanto, “Tacitus’ Attitude to War and the Soldier,” Latomus 29, no. 3 (1970): 699-718.
Note also patronizing attitudes toward the simplicitas of uneducated, uncultured soldiers, eg.,
regarding military wills: J. Brian Campbell, The Emperor and the Roman Army, 31 BC-AD 235
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1984), 226-27.

34 Polybius, Histories, trans. W. R. Paton (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1930), 6.25.11.

35 James, Rome and the Sword, 30, 79-84 and illus. 25-26; Peter Connolly, “Pilum, gladius and pugio
in the Late Republic,” Journal of Roman Military Equipment Studies 8 (1997): 41-57.

36 Arrian, Tactical Handbook, trans. James DeVoto (Chicago: Ares, 1993), 33.

107

iiMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMii

Impressions of Identity: Choosing a
Signet Ring in the Roman Army

Elizabeth M. Greene

Introduction

In 1970 Martin Henig discussed hero veneration amongst soldiers of the Roman army us-
ing as evidence intaglios, incised gemstones of all shapes and colors set into metal finger
rings.1 A large number of intaglios found on a variety of military sites from throughout
the empire contain images of mythological heroes and warriors, suggesting that soldiers in
the Roman army, particularly legionary soldiers and officers, were particularly attached to
heroic figures such as Achilles and Theseus, and their stories. However, it is challenging to
insert fully the narratives of these very classical heroes into the mindset of auxiliary soldiers
originating from provincial communities and only newly incorporated into a Roman daily
context.2 When examining a material culture set from Vindolanda, a frontier settlement
in northern Britain occupied almost exclusively by auxiliary military units with provin-
cial origins, it becomes more difficult to overlay completely these distinctly Greco -Roman
stories onto the identity of a provincial soldier originating, for instance, from Germanic
or Spanish homelands. Rather, I contend that the qualities that these figures represented
became important to one with a martial focus in life who had joined the Roman army, but
without necessarily fully adopting or knowing every aspect of the Greco-Roman myths be-
hind them. I argue that the images found on signet rings in the context of auxiliary military
communities should be associated less with an adoption of or adherence to Greco-Roman
beliefs, as Henig argued for legionary finds,3 and instead have more to do with the complex
and varied identity of those individuals present in these provincial and frontier settlements.

Interpreting specific types of material culture associated with a soldier s identity is inter-
esting and in many cases, keeping in mind the limitations of the evidence, seems to be a
successful route to investigating the incorporation of provincial groups into the Roman
Empire.4 Simon James has argued that the material expression of this soldierly identity
helps to define the “imagined community” of soldiers, especially as it stands out against the
backdrop of the monolithic entity we think of as the Roman military machine.5 In the past
decade we have come to see the Roman provinces, and especially the Roman army within
them, as comprising regionally diverse groups rather than monolithic entities under a sin-
gle umbrella identified as “provincial” or “non- Roman” or “military.” Regional differences
existed throughout the empire, resulting in hybrid cultures that were a mixture of local and

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Elizabeth M. Greene

foreign influences that could vary, sometimes greatly, between regions.6 The provinces and
the populations living within them all had different circumstances based on their status of
conquest, incorporation, pre-Roman situation, local power, and so on. These discrepant
realities cannot be categorized in simple terms just because their general status was “pro-
vincial” or “non-Roman.”7

Essential to the study of provincial communities, especially the Roman army, is the
understanding that identity is situationally constructed and may change quite purposefully
under different circumstances.8 Personal allegiances could be easily advertised by way of
material expressions of bodily adornment such as brooches and other decoration of pro-
vincial origin. Conversely, Roman military armor clearly expressed an allegiance first and
foremost to the Roman army.9 For an auxiliary soldier in the Roman army his identities as
native provincial and Roman soldier were likely both significant to his daily life, but differ-
ent social contexts would have called for greater visibility or emphasis of one over the other.

This essay uses material culture to address some of these issues, particularly how iden-
tity may have been expressed visually through personal choices made by soldiers guarding
the frontiers of the empire. It seeks to understand how soldiers integrated themselves and
negotiated their identity between Roman soldier and non-Roman provincial, as well as how
this negotiation played out in the population that accompanied soldiers into the military
community, living in mixed settlements near military bases in the provinces. It uses one
particular luxury item — the signet ring with incised gemstone (intaglio) — to explore the
choices made by auxiliary soldiers about outward appearance and status-bearing items.
Since there is no tradition of carved seal stones in the pre-Roman West,10 these items can
be used to investigate the incorporation of thoroughly Roman material items into the daily
life of one provincial group. The mass-produced nature of intaglios by the first century
CE suggests that signet rings were used at this point less often as an administrative tool
to seal official documents and had become the purview of anyone who might afford the
status-bearing item of a metal ring with gemstone.11 In this case the very Roman character
of the images worn by auxiliaries becomes meaningful when we consider the soldiers’ pro-
vincial backgrounds and the role intaglios played in the visible expression of identity. These
items can provide a window into how this population incorporated distinctly Roman items
into the daily expression of self and how these items might be differently interpreted to fit
the needs of a mixed frontier population.

The Auxiliary Roman Army and Material Culture

The Roman army was comprised of two types of soldiers: legionary soldiers, organized into
units (legions) of 5000 men, usually citizen soldiers from the core of the empire and often
called the backbone of the Roman military; and the auxiliary or “helping” units, organized
into units of infantry and cavalry (cohorts and alae) of 500 to 1000 soldiers recruited from
the conquered provinces.12 Auxiliary soldiers in the imperial army spent almost a lifetime
serving Rome, with retirement usually after 25 years of service, if one was lucky enough to
reach that milestone alive. We can imagine this lengthy service becoming the focal point
of an individual’s life, and it has been argued that the martial aspect of one’s identity would
over time trump all others.13 It seems likely that this was to a certain degree true, as so much
of a soldier’s time was occupied by the regimented military schedule. One can imagine the
military identity becoming dominant in such an environment. Expression of this identity
might be sought by way of outward physical symbols. Similar to donning military dress, in a
provincial and auxiliary context wearing a Roman signet ring with a mythological war hero
could also project this participation in a Roman military group.

At the same time auxiliaries, the non-citizen soldiers recruited from subjugated areas of
the empire, appear to have also retained some of their original ethnic background in their

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Impressions of Identity: Choosing a Signet Ring in the Roman Army

daily identities. Recruitment into the military occurred typically between the ages of 1 8 and
22, so involved grown men, who were sometimes already married at the point of recruit-
ment.14 On many sites it is relatively clear if the majority of the population was auxiliary by
means of inscriptions and knowledge of the unit in residence. Dedications to Jupiter Opti-
mus Maximus and other military deities divulge the auxiliary unit present, while personal
religious dedications or tombstones often indicate the original cultural affiliation of indi-
vidual soldiers. There is even some evidence indicating that small groups of soldiers with
the same cultural background formed peer groups within larger ethnically mixed military
units by making religious dedications together.15 It appears then that men were recruited
from tribes as a group and entered military communities together; this affected provincial
societies greatly by the loss of young men from a population and resulted in mixed military
populations.16 The cultural affiliations of many military units shifted through time; auxil-
iary units were more ethnically homogeneous in the first century shortly after they were
raised from a specific part of the empire. They became culturally diversified through the
second century as new recruitment into units occurred from various provincial regions,
including the local area where the unit was stationed. Moreover, it has become clear in the
past few decades that soldiers were accompanied by family members, often wives from their
home tribe and the children born during service.17 Such a mixture of backgrounds in a mili-
tary community could lead to individuals asserting their cultural affiliation at certain times,
but also could create circumstances in which their identities as soldiers of Rome became
important as the one common characteristic among members of a unit.

It is precisely this hybrid identity that makes the Roman army an interesting sub-group
to consider in an investigation of identity and material culture in the provinces. Men
recruited into the auxiliary units and the families that traveled with them into the military
communities around the empire became a part of the entity that enforced Roman control
in provincial regions and on the frontiers. Poor treatment by soldiers was sometimes also
the very reason for a native group rising up against this control and at the same time the
Roman army would have been the group that maintained peace after rebellion. As a result
soldiers might express allegiance to their identity as Roman in one context, while stressing
their original ethnic or cultural affiliation in another, for instance within a mixed group
where ethnic identity might be compromised or endangered.18 In such situations cultural
affiliation may be emphasized and stressed through material expression. Thus the choices
made to display identity through visible outward appearance become very interesting and
potentially helpful in understanding the prioritization of one aspect over another.

The personal choice of whether to own a ring with gemstone is even more interesting in
light of the important role played by these items to express status in the Roman world out-
side the military sphere. Beside the practical use of an intaglio as a symbol with which one
would seal a document, the metal of the ring itself was important to declare social status
to the outside world. In Rome and Italy, only senators and equestrians were legally permit-
ted to wear gold rings of any sort, while lower status individuals wore inferior iron rings.
Because of the very hierarchical nature of the Roman army and the importance of status
within the ranks, it is probable that similar rules of outward appearance were observed on
legal and social levels. By the second century CE rings with intaglios were no longer used
as individual markers, as they were then mass-produced with the same image repeating
several times on a single site, but they were still important visual cues of status and identity.
Expressions of rank and wealth were important within the military hierarchy and likely
would have been sought after. The lack of a similar personal item in most pre-Roman north-
ern and western European cultural traditions means that its adoption by auxiliary soldiers,
especially in the first and early second centuries, is a new expression of identity and one that
indicates some form of participation in Roman cultural habits. Since it is more probable
that these are choices made by individuals — that is, there is no indication that the military

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Elizabeth M. Greene

formally controlled this aspect of personal adornment — the image chosen for ones per-
sonal gemstone might help us investigate the incorporation of Roman goods into the mate-
rial culture package of individuals in an auxiliary military community. How the negotiation
between native and military expressions plays out in this small item says a great deal about
how Roman material expression could be used, manipulated, and ultimately hold different
meaning, in the hybrid setting of provincial Roman military camps.

Intaglios in the Roman East and West

As a case study, this essay examines the assemblage of intaglios from the Roman fort at
Vindolanda on Hadrians Wall in England (first-third century CE).19 As a comparable refer-
ence point I will also look at the stones from Dura-Europos (second-third century CE) in
order to investigate the differences and similarities found in this material assemblage in a
community in the East.20 These two sites in many ways are very different, but both represent
a hybrid community of people from varying backgrounds and include a combination of
Roman soldiers and civilians having experienced some form of conquest and integration by
Rome (by c. 85 CE for Vindolanda and c. 165 CE for Dura-Europos).21

Examining the Vindolanda assemblage as a whole, it is apparent that the images cho-
sen as part of ones outward appearance represent broad categories that were universally
appealing to specific groups such as military personnel and related civilians living in a small
frontier community.22 One can count the specific occurrences of individual deities such as
Ceres, Fortuna, and Bonus Eventus, but when viewed more broadly they all express the
notion of good tidings and a bountiful existence. In the same way, it is no surprise that a
large number of stones from Roman forts are of military or heroic scenes such as Achilles
donning armor or Theseus bearing his sword, as Henig noticed long ago;23 however, I do not
suggest that a Batavian or Tungrian soldier, newly incorporated into this Roman world in
the first century CE, thought fondly of his Iliad as he wore his ring with Achilles. Would a
soldier from a northern European tribe or Syria or Moesia know and hold dear the story of
Achilles? It is more likely that the image of a soldier with helmet and armor was a universal
symbol of military might and an auxiliary responded to this generic image as a symbol of
personal strength and power in his new guise as Roman soldier. Possibly this was done in
an attempt to belong to this new social group or for more personal reasons of incorporating
status-bearing items that were valued by the new Roman culture that was now a major part
of an auxiliary soldiers world. Material expression was a major part of the choices being
made by individuals as they were incorporated into the Roman Empire in various places
and in different ways.24

It can be difficult to locate great significance for the personal meaning of an intaglio
and the particular images found on them because of the overall similarity of stones from
cities and settlements around the empire. This was particularly true by the second century
CE when the Roman Empire had made it possible for merchants to transport goods easily
over a vast expanse of territory, resulting in some homogeneity of products. Compounding
this homogeneity is the mass production of intaglios and rings by the second century, when
stone cutting was inferior and the final product was no longer a unique seal. Identical inta-
glios can be found from East to West and on sites with very different character, indicating
that production was centralized and that local workshops closely followed models already
in existence.25 As Helene Guiraud noted about the collection of intaglios from Dura-Euro-
pos, they are not unique in any way in the choice of image or the style of craftsmanship.26
The Vindolanda assemblage also follows models found throughout the empire.27 Nonethe-
less, the choices made are still individual ones that may allow us to evaluate the themes that
were important to a particular group, such as auxiliary soldiers and their dependents living
on the frontiers of the Roman Empire.28 There is no indication that there was any formal

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Impressions of Identity: Choosing a Signet Ring in the Roman Army

control by the Roman military or government of the motifs allowed, beyond the limitations
of availability of types carried by merchants on the frontiers. Therefore, presumably an indi-
vidual chose the image, style, and motif of the intaglio and ring because it had some per-
sonal significance. Guiraud points to a clear thematic connection between the assemblages
of intaglios from Dura-Europos and Gadara (Jordan) and Caesarea (Israel), suggesting that
similar choices were being made in different geographical locations of the East.29 Would this
similarity also be found in communities across the empire, in different, yet similarly hybrid,
towns such as Dura and Vindolanda?

The Vindolanda assemblage now holds almost 100 gemstones from a period of occu-
pation of about two centuries from the late first to the late third century. For unknown
reasons, intaglios were essentially out of use by the fourth century, with only small numbers
appearing, often reused in other artifacts such as necklaces. Carnelian and red jasper stones
predominate at Vindolanda, making up roughly 50% of the assemblage, followed by the
nicolo and imitation nicolo paste settings.30 The Vindolanda assemblage contains no stones
of unusually high quality, especially as compared to another military assemblage from the
legionary fort at Caerleon in southern Wales.31 The predominance of common and even
mass-produced materials such as mold-made paste gems reflects the somewhat lower status
of the populations at Vindolanda. A few rings, however, are of incredibly fine quality, exhib-
iting the relatively high status of certain members of the community.

The images that predominate in the assemblage broadly belong to categories of prosper-
ity and abundance, as well as military depictions of power. There are almost no stones from
Vindolanda depicting emperors or other historical figures,32 nor are any stones inscribed,
even though both types are common throughout the empire. Fantastical figures such as
centaurs and sphinxes also do not feature at Vindolanda. Upon first glance, however,
despite these lacunae, the Vindolanda assemblage still reveals a canonical group of subjects
typical of this medium from throughout the empire: military images of the eagle, Mars, and
Minerva, or Greek heroes such as Achilles, Ajax, and Theseus, as well as personifications
of prosperity figures like Ceres, Fortuna, or Bonus Eventus. But there may be more to this
seemingly typical and perhaps unsurprising group. The stones found in the Vindolanda
assemblage all include symbols that place the image in a more universally understood
realm, such as grain or martial implements. The assemblage lacks purely mythological sym-
bols of specific Greco-Roman content that require in-depth knowledge of people, stories,
and traditions from this specific cultural context. Moreover, Guiraud asserted that the lack
of local images in the Dura assemblage such as Bel, Atargatis, or the fertility goddess Nanaia
may only be masked by the owners personal interpretation of the gemstone.33 In other
words, even when an image represented a typically Greco-Roman figure, the individual
meaning of the stone for a culturally non-Roman owner may have been connected more
to their personal background and outlook. These connections may be adopted more easily
when the stone shows familiar symbols that can be universally understood by individuals
from various cultural backgrounds.

This is precisely how I would like to interpret the assemblage from Vindolanda. I con-
tend that intaglios from an auxiliary context should be investigated more fully for their
meaning within that specific context, rather than assuming a full adoption of Greco-Roman
ideals and beliefs by everyone incorporated into the Roman Empire. Mattingly also takes
this approach in evaluating Greco-Roman art in the provinces, using as his case study the
tombs at Ghirza in Libya.34 Rather than seeing the adoption of Roman artistic elements
as an intentional emulation of Roman culture, Mattingly urges that we begin to examine
how these images operated within indigenous agendas.35 Such an approach can be applied
usefully in the case of the intaglios in an auxiliary frontier setting, especially examples with
clear archaeological context such as those at Vindolanda, where we also know the auxiliary
unit present on site in most occupation periods; by considering the agency of the individ-

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ual using the material item in the provinces it restores a sense of choice on the part of the
owner. The ring with intaglio may have been used as a status symbol within this new world
of the Roman army The image chosen, however, does not necessarily suggest a whole-
hearted adoption of Greco-Roman traditions, but may have been interpreted through the
lens of ones original cultural background.

As an example, images depicting Theseus typically show a nude male figure accompa-
nied by a diadem and a sword, with identification made possible for the modern scholar
by our knowledge of the myth and the presence of the necessary attributes of the story: the
rock hiding the sword and sandals hidden by his father Aegeus.36 One such image comes
from Corbridge, a site only a few miles east of Vindolanda, also garrisoned by auxiliary sol-
diers with a large civilian population. A similar image of Theseus with sword slung over his
chest was found at Vindolanda. The identification and therefore the meaning of the image
rest on the soldier s knowledge of the story of Theseus and their understanding of the sig-
nificance of the rock in the scene. Modern scholars recognize these familiar symbols from
our process of categorizing such material in Greco-Roman terms, but would a non-Roman
soldier have such familiarity with the necessary details of the story to analyze the image in
this way?

Similarly, a ubiquitous image type identified as Achilles depicts a young man wearing
a chlamys on his back, with plumed helmet and a transverse spear, leaning over to affix a
greave to his shin (fig. 7.1). A short column stands in front of the figure with a jug sitting
on top and a sword hanging on the side. A definite identification of this image as Achilles,
however, rests on the auxiliary soldier knowing details from the Homeric stories intimately,
such as the scene of the hero in just this moment of quiet activity.

A non-Roman auxiliary soldier with provincial origins and a cultural background
quite different from that of Rome might not have understood these images specifically as
Achilles donning armor in a specific scene in the Iliad or Theseus retrieving his belong-
ings; however, the symbolism of a strong and victorious soldier with plumed helmet and
greaves emerges clearly. Images such as these would have been a regular part of a soldiers
life and ones that may have been beneficial to express this soldierly identity visually when
the need arose. While the identification of these images by modern scholars as Theseus
or Achilles as they apply to a Roman metropolitan context is probably correct, I contend

that the meaning of the device to an auxiliary soldier with
non-Roman origins should be questioned. The Vindolanda
gem portraying Achilles leaning over to affix a greave to his
shin more generally depicts a soldier in quiet repose with his
implements of war. We recognize this imagery immediately
as the poignant scene from the end of Book 19 in the Iliad
(lines 369-70) and can appreciate the quiet solitude before a
storm that we know approaches; however, it seems far more
likely that a soldier with a Batavian or Tungrian origin (from
northern Gaul and Germany) understood none of this, not
the representation and characterization of Achilles, nor the
poignancy of the moment. He more likely admired the sym-
bols of military strength and power, perhaps together with
a sense that this image and its military paraphernalia were
drawn from a Roman story, rather than fully appreciating a
detailed allusion to Achilles or the Homeric tradition.

What then did the individual of provincial origin living
on the northern frontier see in the representations of Gre-
co-Roman images? Perhaps the more obvious and under-
standable symbols are the attributes that are associated with

icolo stone intaglio with Achilles ar

armnr Vinrlnbnrlp

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Impressions of Identity: Choosing a Signet Ring in the Roman Army

the figure, just as the soldier himself is identified daily by
his equipment and dress. Whether war hero or deity, these
images are accompanied by spears, shields, grain ears, cor-
nucopiae, offering plates, and other attributes that allow
interpretation of the image. Many intaglios are part of a
more general category invoking good fortune, wealth, and
bounty through the representations of gods and goddesses.
The farmer or grain merchant might desire a signet display-
ing Ceres or Fortuna, recognizing in the gem the grain ears
or sheaf of wheat, and therefore possibly the symbolic device
requesting a good harvest. The huntsman perhaps chose to
wear a stone with a stag, or a man returning from a success-
ful hunt with an animal slung over his shoulder,37 or simply
Diana wielding her bow and arrow (plate 45). 38 Whether
or not these are grounded in a specific myth, the meaning
can be extracted by anyone with the ability to understand
such universal symbols of prosperity. Broad categories of
abundance and militaria are found in some numbers at Vin-

soldier, again because of the military imagery rather than
necessarily a supposed adoption of the Greco-Roman pan-
theon. A gem from Vindolanda shows a typical representa-
tion of Mars, who is often depicted in full military uniform
including helmet, with his shield and spear either leaning

dolanda and at Dura, while more specific images such as a
portrait of an emperor, commonly found elsewhere in the 7-2- Red jasper intaglio with Pan dancing,

Roman world, are rare in these two provincial assemblages.39
Perhaps the stones with a very specific political meaning

were more relevant to events in Rome and had little meaning in provincial and frontier
communities with culturally mixed populations. While we must take into account that one
could only buy what the merchant brought up to the northern frontier; the dealer surely
knew his specific market and brought what was sure to be popular there.

At Vindolanda there are a number of gems that could be interpreted as related to the
worship of Bacchus, none of which however actually represents the deity himself. A striding
satyr carrying a bunch of grapes and an image of Pan dancing and holding the syrinx (pan
pipes) both suggest celebration and more generally a bounty of wealth (fig. 7.2). Even when
the direct links to Bacchus are clear, these images can also
be appreciated simply as a scene of celebration that suggests
abundance and prosperity within a community. Another
possible interpretation could point to the common activity
of drinking in a military site; indeed the Vindolanda writing
tablets list beer and wine as common commodities entering
the fort; another tablet records an urgent request for delivery
of more beer.40 Amphorae used to transport wine are a com-
mon find throughout the ceramic assemblages of all peri-
ods of occupation at the fort as well.41 Soldiers and civilians
living on the northern frontier in Britain would experience
months of cold, wet, and short days; an environment that
might likely produce personal symbols representing celebra-
tion and hoped-for prosperity.

Mars and Minerva in their roles as strong soldier and
victorious warrior would have been obvious favorites for a

7.3. Carnelian intaglio with Mars holding spear
and shield, Vindolanda.

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Elizabeth M. Greene

7.4. Red jasper intaglio with seated Jupiter and
eagle, Vindolanda.

nearby or held close to his body (fig. 7.3; compare plate
50). The Dura assemblage includes a well-preserved silver
ring with its intaglio depicting Minerva still intact (plate
43). 42 The worship of Jupiter Optimus Maximus, who is
represented at Vindolanda by at least four gems in slightly
different guises, is also not surprising as part of a military
repertoire (fig. 7.4). It appears that Jupiter was easily syn-
cretized with the many sky gods common throughout the
conquered territories of the western empire, usually with
similar attributes of strength and power, which may allow
someone with non-Roman cultural background to appre-
ciate the image all the same. Postcolonial perspectives on
syncretism of religion in the Roman provinces may offer a
useful comparison here in support of the contention that the
images on gemstones can have meanings that vary among
different individuals. Webster argues for a much more inclu-
sive interpretation of religion in the provinces, giving agency
to the native “actors” in the process of syncretism.43 A tidy
interpretation of native acceptance of Roman deities by way
of conflation with something recognizable is no longer tena-
ble. This outdated approach ignores the spectrum of possible
responses to this process and assumes the acceptance of something “Roman” on the part of
the provincial individual. Religion remains a deeply personal experience, and as Webster
suggests, we may expect a panoply of responses to the changes that took place after con-
quest.44 In a similar way, we cannot assume that the non-Roman auxiliary soldier suddenly
understood and accepted the complete stories of the Greco-Roman heroes such as Achilles
even if he chose to wear this symbol on a daily basis. The image on the stone meant some-
thing to him, presumably, but this meaning may be far more complex than at first seems
and a simple reading is unlikely. As argued by both Mattingly and Webster, the interpreta-
tion of Roman material within a provincial context needs to take into account the different

agendas at play in these communities.

Indeed, Jupiter was a symbol of strength and represented
the all-encompassing power of the Roman Empire, an entity
protected by the Roman army. In a frontier community the
strength of Rome and its ability to protect border regions
would be an ongoing concern for the population. Whether
worn by a soldier or a member of the surrounding military
community, the strength of Jupiter would have been an
appropriate symbol in hopes of peace and safety. The attri-
butes typically associated with Jupiter cannot be misunder-
stood: the fulmen (thunderbolt) with star and moon (fig.
7.5), or seated holding a scepter, accompanied by an eagle
and the globe held in hand (as seen in fig. 7.4). These are all
symbols that are used in various cultural contexts to visu-
alize power, dominance, and victory and it is conceivable
that these would be concerns for a soldier or someone in a

7.5. Bronze intaglio with idealized lightning bolt
symbol, Vindolanda.

military community that took pride in their role in defense
of the frontier. But this is a simple reduction of the evidence
and can only be one option among several possibilities.
Emphasizing the universal nature of symbols would at least
remove the prioritization of the Greco -Roman function of

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Impressions of Identity: Choosing a Signet Ring in the Roman Army

7.6. Green glass molded gem of Jupiter with
symbols of Ammon and Serapis, Vindolanda.

an image of Achilles and allow the non-citizen provincial to
develop their own meaning in the device. It is possible that
a completely personal meaning of an image trumped a sup-
posed deliberate relationship with the Greco-Roman world,
as Henig suggested in his article considering the veneration
of heroes in intaglios from military sites.45

Jupiter’s ability to take on new roles, therefore appealing
to individuals with non-Roman cultural backgrounds, is
well demonstrated in the Vindolanda assemblage. A green
glass stone has the added detail of horns and a modius (a
barrel-shaped wheat measurement) on the deity’s head, con-
necting it to the Egyptian deities Amun (the Roman Jupiter
Ammon) and Serapis (fig. 7.6). Serapis himself is a confla-
tion of Osiris and Apis,46 brought into the Roman sphere
in conjunction with the power of Jupiter. This Egyptian
influence found in some stones may only reflect the popu-
lar desire for exotic items from Egypt in the early Roman
Empire, rather than an intentional mark of cultural origin
on the part of a soldier. In this way an intaglio may look like
a mass-produced commodity holding little personal mean-
ing for its owner, but this broad association might also be the

key to its meaning. The Greco-Roman pantheon and the panoply of stories that accompany
these individuals held characteristics that could have wider significance and cross-cultural
meaning. Wearing a ring with an incised gemstone in its bezel may have been the adoption
of a thoroughly Greco-Roman practice on the part of the non-Roman wearer; however, the
choice of image and style (and as importantly how to interpret it) could have been a selec-
tion as individual as what to inscribe on a personal altar.

This comparison is noteworthy, since in some way there is a parallel phenomenon
with religious expression amongst Roman auxiliary troops. While almost all forts appear
to have had large altars to Jupiter Optimus Maximus or the genius (divine spirit) of the
emperor set up in public spaces displaying the fulfillment
of their obligations to the state, small personal altars that
fit into one’s hand are found associated with many auxiliary
forts. In many cases these are dedications to native deities
that appear to derive from the cultural background of the
soldiers.47 Deities such as Epona, a horse goddess, or confla-
tions of Roman deities with Celtic or Germanic ones, such
as Mars Thincsus, have been recorded at various sites around
the Hadrian’s Wall zone.48 These altars reveal more explic-
itly the personal choices being made by individual soldiers
to express old ideas and beliefs in new material ways. This
phenomenon may also have occurred with the adoption of
wearing an incised gemstone. With personal altars soldiers
from non-Roman backgrounds were adopting a practice
that was foreign to them — that of inscribing the object of
one’s worship on a stone. This practice was not known in
the pre- Roman Celtic or Germanic worlds. Therefore, while
the worship of a local or native deity remained intact the
expression of this belief was now made visible by means of
a Roman epigraphic habit. In a similar way, the choice of

image incised on a gemstone may also reflect ideas familiar

0 a j horns of Ammon, trident, and snake, Vindolanda.

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Elizabeth M. Greene

Red and white jasper intaglio of Ceres with
wheat and offering plate, Vindolanda.

7-9

to the non-Roman individual, such as hoped-for military
strength or agricultural prosperity, but articulated in a new
material way in a status-bearing finger ring.

By far the most amazing feat of syncretism at Vindolanda
is found on a red jasper intaglio from the late second century
CE context (fig. 7.7). The gem shows a bust of a diademed
male with the attributes of no less than five deities. In front
of the bust is the trident of Neptune entwined by the snake
of Aesculapius. From the head of the figure projects the rays
of Helios, the horns of Ammon, and the modius of Serapis.
These symbols all represent typical conflations with the Gre-
co-Roman Jupiter figure, but they also all have their origin
in the East. The gem may have originated with an eastern
or possibly North African trader or appealed to a soldier
with this cultural background.49 Of course, it is not possi-
ble to link intaglios to their original owners with certainty,
but it is worth thinking through the possible meanings of
these objects in their frontier context in settlements asso-
ciated with provincial populations. We know, for instance,
that a unit of Syrians were present at the nearby fort at Car-
voran with epigraphic evidence for the worship of a Syrian
deity also at Vindolanda,50 and an influx of North African soldiers in northern Britain has
long been assumed.51 For a soldier these accompanying attributes would suggest power
and dominance, possibly of both land and sea as suggested by the trident, as well as health
and prosperity, all of which would have been recognizable symbolically to individuals with
varied cultural backgrounds.

Most of the gems found at Vindolanda have a general symbolic meaning that could
carry significance for someone without a Greco-Roman cultural background; whether the
specific associations with the detailed nuances of each image were understood by the indi-
vidual owner in antiquity must remain conjecture. A gem with Mars or Minerva holding a
shield and helmet may have been read by a German auxiliary soldier residing on the Brit-
ish frontier simply as symbols of military supremacy. Either
image could have evoked for him the power of a divine
warrior, and he could have hoped that the amulet would
carry him through his tenure in the army safely and success-
fully. Similarly, the difference in meaning and iconography
between Ceres and Bonus Eventus may have been slight. A
gem from Vindolanda (fig. 7.8) shows Ceres carrying wheat
sheaves and an offering plate, not very different from a typ-
ical image of Bonus Eventus with the same attributes (fig.
7.9). In both examples the attributes would have been gen-
erally recognizable to a wider audience of varying cultural
backgrounds, and it is the theme of agricultural abundance
that would have attracted owners looking to evoke the same
hope of prosperity. A gem from Dura displays equally obvi-
ous themes of abundance with Fortuna holding the cornu-
copia rather than the grain associated with Ceres (plate 46). 52
Several people in the community would have depended on
a good harvest: those hoping to make their yearly wage by
selling crops to the Roman army or the military personnel

responsible for obtaining the proper supplies and rations to

wheat and ottering plate, Vindolanda. r ° r r rr

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Impressions of Identity: Choosing a Signet Ring in the Roman Army

support the unit. Both may have chosen a symbol of agricultural abundance for personal
representation, primarily based on the recognizable symbols of sheaves of wheat and offer-
ing plates, while having no particular allegiance specifically to the Greco-Roman idea of
Ceres or Bonus Eventus.

Conclusion

When an individual living in the vast expanse of the Roman Empire desired a personal sig-
net they had only Roman themes from which to choose and perhaps would have selected a
gem which carried obvious symbols pertaining to ones own hopes and aspirations. What-
ever the subject, they might have understood the deeper meaning of the religious beliefs or
simply enjoyed the protection felt from the outward symbols the image projected. It is also
quite probable that someone once wore a finger ring that included an image that meant little
or nothing to them personally. These small details of personal ambition, desires, and whims
cannot be recovered with certainty for the Roman individual.

The gems from Vindolanda and Dura-Europos form a similar group in both images
depicted and production style. This could be attributed to the homogeneity of the medium
across the empire. Something more individual can be found, however, by looking beyond
this uniformity to what is also lacking in these two assemblages. Depictions with specific
political significance such as busts of emperors, which conspicuously lack universally
recognizable symbols like grain and militaria, are for the most part missing from both these
provincial assemblages. Perhaps such politically specific images held little appeal to pop-
ulations with predominantly non-Roman cultural backgrounds. On the frontiers and in
the provinces the adoption of a Roman cultural habit could still be imbued with personal
choices that expressed concerns about their individual lives.

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Elizabeth M. Greene

1 Martin Henig, “The Veneration of Heroes in the Roman Army: The Evidence of Engraved Gem-
stones,” Britannia 1 (1970): 249-65.

2 Many provincial regions, for instance southern Gaul, would potentially have had long-standing
contact with Greco-Roman traditions. For this paper I focus more on newly incorporated prov-
inces and areas with no serious contact with the classical world before conquest.

3 Henig, “Veneration of Heroes.”

4 Simon James, “The Community of the Soldiers: A Major Identity and Centre of Power in the
Roman Empire,” in TRAC 98: Proceedings of the 8th Annual Theoretical Archaeology Conference,
Leicester 1998, ed. Patricia Baker et al. (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 1999), 14-25, explores the fash-
ioning of identity through material culture specific to the role as “soldier,” while Lindsay Alla-
son- Jones, “What is a Military Assemblage?,” Journal of Roman Military Equipment Studies 10
(1999): 1-4, questions whether the presence or absence of traditionally “military” finds can give
us secure identification of spaces and people.

5 James, “Community of the Soldiers,” 14.

6 David J. Mattingly, “Identities in the Roman World: Discrepancy, Heterogeneity, Hybridity, and
Plurality” in this volume.

7 Mattingly’s “discrepant experiences.” David J. Mattingly, An Imperial Possession: Britain in the
Roman Empire, 54 BC-AD 409 (London: Penguin, 2007); Mattingly, Imperialism, Power, and
Identity: Experiencing the Roman Empire (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2011), esp.
203-45; Mattingly, “Identities in the Roman World”; Simon James, “The ‘Romanness of the Sol-
diers’: Barbarized Periphery or Imperial Core?,” in this volume explores how the Roman military
created a provincial community.

8 For a discussion of the exploration of ethnicity in the past through archaeological material see
generally, Sian Jones, The Archaeology of Ethnicity: Constructing Identities in the Past and Present
(London: Routledge, 1997), passim.

9 Tatiana Ivleva, “British Emigrants in the Roman Empire: Complexities and Symbols of Ethnic
Identities,” in TRAC 2010: Proceedings of the 20th Theoretical Roman Archaeology Conference,
Oxford 2010, ed. Dragana Mladenovic and Ben Russell (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2011) explores
the example of British auxiliary soldiers moving throughout the empire by way of brooch distri-
butions in military forts.

10 Though physical markers of status surely abounded in pre-Roman Iron Age Europe.

1 1 The Snettisham hoard (Catherine Johns, The Snettisham Roman Jeweller’s Hoard [London: Brit-
ish Museum, 1997]) in England is a good example of the repeat images that can be found on
scores of stones. These same images are found across the empire, not only in individual regions.
Gemstones also came to be produced in mold-made paste materials that mimicked higher end
stones such as nicolo, but were more affordable to lower classes such as auxiliary soldiers.

12 The composition of the Roman military changes over time as more people in the empire gain
citizenship through the first and second centuries CE. The legions in the first century are thought
to comprise citizen soldiers, often Italians, while the auxiliary units are raised from provincial
regions with unit names that reflect the original provincial or tribal recruiting location. This
changes throughout the late first and early second centuries, but how quickly and to what degree
is still debated. The cultural background of the units changes through the second century as sol-
diers are recruited locally and from different parts of the empire as units move around. However,

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Impressions of Identity: Choosing a Signet Ring in the Roman Army

there is evidence that still in the third century CE attempts were made to distinguish between
different cultural affiliations on military sites. For an important inscription at Vindolanda mak-
ing a clear distinction between Gauls and Britons, see Anthony Birley, “Cives Galli de(ae) Galliae
Concordesque Britanni: A Dedication at Vindolanda,” FAntiquite Classique 77 (2008): 172-87.

13 James, “Community of the Soldiers,” passim.

14 Roman soldiers were not legally allowed marriage during service in the first and second centu-
ries CE and Roman law dictated that after enlistment any existing marriage was null and void.
However, it is quite clear that soldiers had de facto relationships and started families throughout
their period of service. See Carol van Driel-Murray, “A Question of Gender in a Military Con-
text,” Helinium 34 (1998): 342-62; Lindsay Allason- Jones, “Women and the Roman Army in
Britain,” in The Roman Army as a Community, ed. Adrian Goldsworthy and Ian Haynes (Ports-
mouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 1999), 41-51; Penelope Allison, “Mapping for Gender:
Interpreting Artefact Distribution inside 1st- and 2nd-century AD Forts in Roman Germany,”
Archaeological Dialogues 13, no. 1 (2006): 1-20; Elizabeth M. Greene, “Before Hadrian’s Wall:
Early Military Communities on the Roman Frontier in Britain,” in Breaking Down Boundaries:
Hadrians Wall in the 21st Century, ed. Rob Collins and Matthew Symonds (Portsmouth: Journal
of Roman Archaeology, 2013), 17-32.

15 Alexander Meyer, The Creation, Composition, Service and Settlement of Roman Auxiliary Units
Raised on the Iberian Peninsula (Oxford: British Archaeological Reports, 2013), 39-41.

16 For further discussion, see Carol van Driel-Murray, “Ethnic Recruitment and Military Mobility”
in Limes XX: Estudios Sobre la Frontera Romana, ed. Angel Morillo, Norbert Hanel, and Esper-
anza Martin (Madrid: Ediciones Polifemo, 2009), 813-22; Van Driel-Murray, “Those Who Wait
at Home: The Effect of Recruitment on Women in the Lower Rhine Area,” in Frauen und Romi-
sches Militar: Beitrage eines Runden Tisches in Xanten vom 7. bis 9. Juli 2005, ed. Ulrich Brandi
(Oxford: British Archaeological Reports, 2008), 82-91.

17 See above, note 14.

18 Fredrik Barth, “Introduction,” in Ethnic Groups and Boundaries: The Social Organization of Cul-
ture Difference (Oslo: Universitetsforlaget, 1969), esp. 9-12. Theoretical approaches to ethnicity
have primarily come to archaeological and historical research from social and cultural anthro-
pology, in which ethnographic analogy is common. Barth was most influential in showing that
boundaries between ethnic groups were not as rigid as had previously been thought and that
ethnic identity could be maintained even with intense cross-cultural contact. He showed that an
individual voluntarily chose specific relevant markers to memorialize their ethnicity when in a
situation that could compromise this aspect of their identity. These markers would be continual-
ly expressed in order to maintain that identity. Barth’s conclusions mean generally that there was
a persistence of ethnic identity in a new environment and that an individual might successfully
maintain ethnic indicators by material means.

19 Gemstones have been a focus of collectors throughout history, leaving no information about the
archaeological context of most gems. The Vindolanda assemblage, however, has been recovered
entirely through modern excavation rather than antiquarian collection. It is, therefore, a fully
stratified group of gems with archaeological information about dating and association with a
specific occupation period on the site as well as the unit in residence at the fort. For full publica-
tion of this assemblage, see Barbara Birley and Elizabeth M. Greene, The Roman Jewellery from
Vindolanda (Greenhead: Roman Army Museum, 2006), 53-116.

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Elizabeth M. Greene

20 First published: Helene Guiraud, “Intaglios from Dura-Europos,” Yale University Art Gallery
Bulletin (1992): 48-85. This paper makes reference to pieces in the Yale University Art Gallery
collections as an example of certain motifs. Stones without archaeological provenience are not
used in the argument of the paper.

2 1 For general discussion of the fort and settlement at Vindolanda, see most recently Robin Birley,
Vindolanda: A Roman Frontier Fort on Hadrians Wall (Stroud: Amberley, 2009); Robin Birley,
Civilians on Rome’s Northern Frontier (Greenhead: Roman Army Museum, 2009). For recent
archaeological work at Vindolanda and bibliography for previous excavations, see Andrew Birley
and Justin Blake, Vindolanda Excavations 2005-2006 (Hexham: Vindolanda Trust, 2007). For the
military presence at Dura-Europos, see Simon James, Excavations at Dura-Europos 1928-1937:
Final Report 7; The Arms and Armour and Other Military Equipment (Fondon: British Museum,
2004); James, “The ‘Romanness of the Soldiers,’” in this volume.

22 It can also be argued that the populations living on a far flung frontier were limited in choice by
what merchants brought to the area; however, merchants would certainly know their market and
bring what they knew would sell. Moreover, the Vindolanda tablets indicate that soldiers on the
northern frontier in Britain were quite mobile and certainly would have had opportunity to buy
personal items elsewhere.

23 Henig, “Veneration of Heroes.”

24 James, “Community of the Soldiers,” 14-25.

25 A major production site was located at Aquileia in northern Italy: Gemma Sena Chiesa, Gemme
del Museo Nazionale di Aquileia (Aquileia: Associazione Nazionale per Aquileia, 1966). For local
craftsmanship see the example of the Snettisham hoard in England: Johns, Snettisham Roman
Jeweller’s Hoard.

26 Guiraud, “Intaglios from Dura-Europos,” 49.

27 For some of the major publications of gemstones, see Adolf Furtwangler, Die Antiken Gemmen:
Geschichte der Steinschneidekunst im klassischen Altertum, 3 vols. (Amsterdam: Adolf M. Hak-
kert, 1964-65); Elfriede Brandt, Antike Gemmen in Deutschen Sammlungen (Munich: Prestel,
1968-75); Martin Henig, A Corpus of Roman Engraved Gemstones from British Sites, 2nd ed.
(Oxford: Archaeopress, 1978); Antje Krug, Antike Gemmen im Romisch-Germanischen Museum
Koln (Frankfurt: Von Zabern, 1981); Marianne Maaskant-Kleibrink, Classification of Ancient
Engraved Gems: A Study Based on the Collection in the Royal Coin Cabinet, The Hague (Feiden:
Boerhaavezalen, 1975); Maaskant-Kleibrink, The Engraved Gems: Roman and Non-Roman (Ni-
jmegen: Ministry of Welfare, Health and Cultural Affairs, 1986); Gertrud Platz-Horster, Antike
Gemmen aus Xanten, 2 vols. (Cologne: Rheinland- Verlag, 1984/87); Platz-Horster, Die antik-
en Gemmen im Rheinischen Landesmuseum Bonn (Cologne: Rheinland- Verlag, 1984); Gemma
Sena Chiesa, Gemme di Luni (Rome: G. Bretschneider, 1978); Sena Chiesa, Gemme del Museo
Nazionale di Aquileia; J. David Zienkiewicz, The Legionary Fortress Baths at Caerleon II: The
Finds (Cardiff: Welsh Historic Monuments, 1986).

28 Cf. Guiraud, “Intaglios from Dura-Europos,” 54.

29 Ibid., 55. It is also arguable that a certain population would be subject to purchasing what was
available from merchants; however, one would expect the availability and choice to be vast in a
city like Dura, perhaps much less in a small frontier community on Hadrians Wall in England.
Guiraud, for instance, notes a lack of local divinities in the eastern assemblages, which is also a
characteristic of intaglios in Roman Britain.

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Impressions of Identity: Choosing a Signet Ring in the Roman Army

30 These are all quartz stones that were abundant and readily available in the empire, apparently
for a reasonable price given their ubiquity in the archaeological record. There are no precious
stones in the Vindolanda assemblage and compared to the stones at the legionary fort at Caer-
leon (Zienkiewicz, Legionary Fortress Baths, 117-41) it appears that the Vindolanda population
had less money to spend on these luxury items. See Birley and Greene, Roman Jewellery from
Vindolanda, 53-116.

31 Zienkiewicz, Legionary Fortress Baths, 117-41.

32 One stone may be a portrait of the emperor Septimius Severus. Birley and Greene, Roman Jewel-
lery from Vindolanda, 112-13, cat. 54.

33 Guiraud, “Intaglios from Dura-Europos,” 55-56.

34 Mattingly, Imperialism, Power, and Identity, 246-68.

35 Ibid., 246-47.

36 Henig, “Veneration of Heroes,” 250.

37 E.g., YUAG 1938.2336; Guiraud, “Intaglios from Dura-Europos,” cat. 10.

38 Guiraud, “Intaglios from Dura-Europos,” cat. 3. Giraud (55) suggests a similar interpretation for
some Dura gems associated with activities of profession or ethnic background.

39 From Vindolanda see above, note 32. From Dura-Europos comes a bust of a male, but the myth-
ological symbols of the satyr are still clear: Guiraud, “Intaglios from Dura-Europos,” cat. 8. There
is no evidence that image types were restricted to certain groups, though we may be lacking
relevant information for such an assertion.

40 Alan K. Bowman and J. David Thomas, The Vindolanda Writing Tablets: Tabulae Vindolandenses
II (London: British Museum, 1994), no. 186, 145-48; no. 190, 153-57; Bowman and Thomas,
The Vindolanda Writing Tablets: Tabulae Vindolandenses III (London: British Museum, 2003),
no. 581, 23-34; no. 628, 84-86.

41 Elise Marliere and Josep Torres Costa, “Tonneaux et amphores a Vindolanda: Contribution a la
connaissance de l’approvisionnement des troupes stationnees sur le mur d’Hadrien (II),” in Vin-
dolanda Excavations 2003-2004, ed. Andrew Birley and Justin Blake (Greenhead: Roman Army
Museum, 2005), 214-36.

42 Guiraud, “Intaglios from Dura-Europos,” cat. 4.

43 Jane Webster, “A Negotiated Syncretism: Readings on the Development of Romano-Celtic Reli-
gion,” in Dialogues in Roman Imperialism: Power, Discourse and Discrepant Experience in the Ro-
man Empire, ed. David J. Mattingly (Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 1997), 165-84.

44 Ibid., 167. Also see Jane Webster, “Necessary Comparisons: A Post-Colonial Approach to Reli-
gious Syncretism in the Roman Provinces,” World Archaeology 28, no. 3 (1997): 324-38.

45 Henig, “Veneration of Heroes,” 249-65.

46 See Ann M. Nicgorski, “The Fate of Serapis: A Paradigm for Transformations in the Culture and
Art of Late Roman Egypt,” in this volume.

47 For instance Germanic deities are common in the frontier zone in Britain presumably because
of the number of Germanic soldiers and units in the province. Anthony Birley, “Some Germanic
Deities and Their Worshippers in the British Frontier Zone,” in Monumentum et Instrumen-
tum Inscriptum, ed. Henning Borm, Norbert Ehrhardt, and Josef Wiesehofer (Stuttgart: Steiner,

123

Elizabeth M. Greene

2008), 31-46.

48 Ibid., 32-33.

49 Julian Munby and Martin Henig, Roman Life and Art (Oxford: Archaeopress, 1977), 342.

50 Anthony Birley, “The Cohors I Hamiorum in Britain,” Acta Classica 55 (2012): 1-16.

51 Vivien Swan and Jason Monaghan, “Head Pots: A North African Tradition in Roman York,”
Yorkshire Archaeological Journal 65 (1993): 21-38.

52 Guiraud, “Intaglios from Dura-Europos,” cat. 7.

124

iiMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMii

Local Idioms and Global Meanings:
Mithraism and Roman Provincial Art

Lucinda Dirven and Matthew M. McCarty

Explaining Differences or Similarities?

Around 180 CE, a Roman army veteran named Titus Aurelius Marcus dedicated a marble re-
lief to the god Mithras in a sanctuary just outside the fort at Apulum in the province of Dacia
(fig. 8.1), on the northern edge of the Roman Empire (see map, p. v; fig. 8.2). In the center
of the relief, Mithras, clad in his characteristic “eastern” dress — a felt cap, a billowing cloak
over a tunic, and trousers — drives his left knee into the back of a collapsed bull, and, yank-
ing the bull’s snout back, plunges a dagger
into its shoulder. A snake and a dog rear
up, eagerly licking the blood pouring from
the wound. To the left (poorly preserved)
and right, two torch-bearing attendants,

Cautopates and Cautes, stand by, their
legs crossed, similarly clad in “eastern”
garb. In the spandrels of the arch that de-
lineates this central scene, flanking busts
of the personified Sun (at left) and Moon
(at right), Mithras appears again: on the
left, dragging the bull by its hind legs;
on the right, rising naked (save his cap!)
from a crescent, bearing a torch and his
dagger, while below, a lion — positioned
vertically — drinks from an elaborate mix-
ing-bowl. Further vignettes drawn from
myths about Mithras’s life and achieve-
ments decorate registers above and below
the main scene, which is flanked by col-
umned pilasters. A Latin inscription runs

above the main scene: “To the Unconquered God Mithras, Titus Aurelius Marcus, of the
Fabian voting- tribe, veteran of the legio XIII Gemina [dedicated this].”

8.i. Tauroctony relief dedicated by Titus Aurelius Marcus, c. 180 CE,
Apulum. Muzeul National al Unirii, Alba lulia.

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Lucinda Dirven and Matthew M. McCarty

Over 1,200 miles away, in
Dura-Europos, Syria, a garrisoned
frontier town along Romes border
with Persia, Zenobius, an officer in a
unit of Palmyrene archers, dedicated
his own relief to Mithras in the local
Mithraeum in 170/1 CE (fig. 8.3).
Under an arch supported by two col-
umns and decorated with the signs
of the zodiac, the same trousered,
cloaked, and bonneted Mithras wres-
tles a bull to the ground, plunging a
dagger into the side of its neck, while
a dog and snake lap up the gushing
blood. Busts of the Sun and Moon
look on from the spandrels; the Sun
appears again just above Mithras’s
cap. To the right, a series of worship-
pers appears, all wearing their hair in the puffy coiffure favored in Durene portraiture,
and each labeled with his name in Greek script: Barnadaath, Iariboles, and Zenobius, who
drops incense on a small altar. Barnadaath and Iariboles stand on an elevated dais, their

right hands raised in acclamation, while
two smaller, unlabeled figures kneel
below. The main dedicatory inscription
(also in Greek) runs under the scene: “To
the god Mithras. Zenobius, who is also
[called] Eiaeibas, son of Iariboles, com-
mander of the archers, in year 482 [170/1
CE].” During a period of refurbishment
(around 240 CE), scenes were painted
on the wall arching above the reliefs
that include some drawn from the same
mythological repertoire as those found
in the registers flanking the main scene
of Marcus’s relief at Apulum: Mithras
drawing his bow and reclining at a ban-
quet with the sun-god.

Yet differences between the two mon-
uments abound, ranging from the minor
to the much more obvious. Zenobius’s
relief includes a portrait of Zenobius himself dropping incense onto an altar to the right
of the main scene, with four smaller figures standing to his right. Not only does Marcus’s
offering at Apulum include a host of other Mithraic scenes on all sides of the bull-slaying,
but it also includes the two attendants, Cautes and Cautopates, in the main scene. Each
monument uses the popular local language for inscriptions: Greek for Zenobius, Latin for
Marcus. It is equally clear, however, that both reliefs replicate a common schema, as do the
other nearly 1000 Mithraic tauroctony (bull-slaying) reliefs found in a geographic area that
ranges from northern Britain, to the edge of the Sahara, to the Euphrates. Like all of the art
produced across the vast expanse of the Roman Empire, these reliefs call for discussion and
explanation of their similarities and divergences, of the “social life” of the images, of differ-
ences in the agency and patronage behind their production, and of potential discrepancies

8.3. Tauroctony relief dedicated by Zenobius, 170/1 CE. Yale University Art
Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1935.98.

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Local Idioms and Global Meanings: Mithraism and Roman Provincial Art

not just in what they signify, but in how they signify. Reflecting on these issues also sheds
light on the myriad ways that interconnections, commonalities, and distinctions worked to
create a sense of being Roman within the empire.

Recent work on Roman provincial art, including many contributions to the present vol-
ume, emphasizes the differing ways patrons and craftsmen of various technical competen-
cies across the empire responded to, appropriated, and adapted a figurative, largely mimetic
system of representation from the classical world.1 In other words, the burgeoning field of
Roman provincial art has focused on the creative reception— and remaking— of a visual tra-
dition. Rather than seeing variations from this classical tradition as deficiencies, studies now
ascribe value and meaning to them, often under the assumption that such variations repre-
sent intentional departures from classical “norms” (not that such things ever existed in them-
selves). Such variations are thought to personalize the images and make them more potent,
hybrid signifiers for peoples with their own imagistic traditions. These studies have revealed
how a seemingly shared repertoire, and even a shared style, might be instrumentalized in very
different ways to invent unique identities or imagined traditions.2 If a visual idiom was held
in common, the various meanings and significances created by (or freighted upon) any given
image are supposed to be “local”: things that look the same do not always mean the same.

Yet despite the fact that most of our modern knowledge of Mithraism stems from the
reliefs, statues, paintings, and inscribed altars that stood in mithraea across the empire,
the study of “Mithraism” has moved in a very different direction: toward unifying rather
than differentiating. In mithraea, as with much of the visual culture of the Roman Empire,
there were shared formal configurations and sets of symbols: witness the two reliefs dis-
cussed above. Yet this formal similarity has been precisely the grounds upon which modern
scholars have constructed a homogeneous notion of Mithraic “doctrine”: their claim has
been that the images do not just look the same, but also “mean” the same, and do so in a
similar manner.3 There might be slight differences in quality of workmanship, local work-
shops might impart their own “styles,” but adaptations and alterations are largely cast as
embellishments, flourishes, and additive extensions to an unchanging core.4 If there are
variations in Mithraism in time and space, these stem from the hermeneutic interpretations
that communities might build around the basic core of “brute facts” implicit in the shared
iconographies of their monuments.

In some ways, Mithraic monuments present a slightly different type of case study
than most forms of provincial art, for they were set in similar contexts and were probably
engaged via similar ritual practices, even if the users of these images came from different
places, social backgrounds, and traditions. That said, it is unclear what precise function
these images had for their communities — or whether, despite their shared iconography and
similar placement within mithraea, they all served the same purpose. Were they just depic-
tions of a myth- narrative whose further significances elude us?5 A “transcription, via image,
of philosophy”?6 Starting points for hermeneutic exegesis in the manner of sacred texts?7
Didactic tools to help community leaders teach Mithraic doctrine?8 Symbols that embodied
cosmological truths?9 “Cult images” that received veneration?10

In this essay, by looking at two sets of Mithraic images from very different social, cul-
tural, and geographic milieux — those from Syria in the East and those from Dacia in the
West — we propose to revisit some key questions in light of the different directions that
scholarship about Roman provincial art in general and Mithraic art (as the evidence for
Mithraism) in particular have moved. Is the art associated with Mithraism exceptional in its
enmeshment within a tightly bound symbol-package when compared to other types of art
produced and consumed in the Roman provinces? Is its seeming homogeneity a chimera of
modern scholarship that needs to be re-evaluated on the basis of recent work on provincial
art? Or does the art in mithraea suggest that we need to modify our paradigms of reception
in provincial art?

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Lucinda Dirven and Matthew M. McCarty

The monuments from these two distinct parts of the Roman Empire in fact suggest
that we do need to rethink some of our understandings of art in the provinces, including
notions of the “local,” for they reveal how a tightly packaged bundle of significances could
travel, intact, across vast spaces. If a visual schema could be elaborated with distinctively
local visual idioms, as happens both at Dura and in Dacia, this was done in a way that
maintained a high degree of recognizability, allowing members of Mithraic communities to
move between sanctuaries across the empire.

Mithraism in the Roman Empire: Some Generalities

To speak of “Mithraism” is already to make an interpretive leap: to group disparate imag-
es, sanctuaries, and communities together into a neatly bound heuristic package. Ancient
authors never spoke of “Mithraism,” only of the “mysteries ( musteria ) of Mithras,” the “rite
( telete ) of Mithras,” or the “sacred things/rites (sacra) of Mithras,” putting emphasis on the sets
of actions that worshippers might direct to the god.11 As with almost all discourses around
“religion” in the ancient world, ritual practice was privileged over belief and doctrine.12

Historically, Mithra had long been worshipped
as a minor deity in the kingdoms of the Near
East. Yet the particular package of rites, images,
and architecture that we equate with “Mithraism”
seems to have been born in or around Rome in the
mid- first century CE, and it spread rapidly through
the empire. If certain aspects of the cult — Mithras’s
name, the eastern dress of the god, the use of Per-
sian loan-words like nama (hail) in inscriptions —
draw to mind the claimed Persian origins of the
cult and actively cast the cult as foreign and “other,”
the images and practices of Mithraic communi-
ties have no clear parallels in the Near East: they
are largely a product of the Roman Empire.13 Not
only was this particular assemblage of materials
and symbols “local” to the Roman Empire, it never
traveled beyond the empire’s borders (unlike, for
example, worship of Christ).

On the most general level, there are a great num-
ber of similarities documented in cults of Mithras
across the Roman Empire. First and foremost, the
scene of bull-killing, whether painted or carved in relief, seems to have occupied a prime
position.14 Often, as at Dura, it appeared in the rear of the sanctuary, highlighted by archi-
tectural embellishments like platforms and niches. Communities seem to have been orga-
nized along similar lines, with a ranked hierarchy of members occupying seven different
stages of initiation, led by those titled “fathers” and “lions.”15 At Dura, for example, at least
six of these grades are attested in graffiti, although any mention of cult- rank is absent from
Dacia. Third, aspects of the rites seem to have been shared across the empire: at both Dura
and Apulum Mithraeum III, for example, small tile boxes set in the floor of the sanctuary
contained the remnants of sacrificed chickens. Finally, the sanctuaries themselves shared a
number of features. Unlike most Greco-Roman temples, where the ritual action took place
in a courtyard before the temple (which was a display-box for a statue of the god), Mithra-
ism was an “indoor cult,” whose long and narrow spaces were sometimes slightly sunken
below ground level and, as was the case with the Dura Mithraeum, lined with benches along
the side walls (fig. 8.4). 16 Such benches were for members of the sanctuary community

8.4. Isometric reconstruction ofthe Late Mithraeum at Dura-
Europos by Henry Pearson.

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Local Idioms and Global Meanings: Mithraism and Roman Provincial Art

to recline while banqueting in imitation of the
meal Mithras is often shown sharing with the
sun-god (fig. 8.5). The space of the sanctuary is
then designed for a particular cult-act, but one
that is set in relation to a mythological narra-
tive.17

It seems too that mithraea across the
empire were laid out with cosmological sym-
bolism. One third-century CE philosopher,

Porphyry, draws upon the worship of Mithras
to substantiate his own neo-Platonic ideas.18
Porphyry describes the first sanctuary ded-
icated to Mithras as a cave that bore “s.”19 In
other words, the entire space was a representa-
tion of ideas about the universe, a cosmology.

Nor were such ideas confined to the musings
of Porphyry: a number of mithraea are covered
with astral signs that turn them into miniature
cosmos, from stars painted on their vaulted ceilings (as in the Dura Mithraeum) to the
signs of the zodiac surrounding either tauroctony reliefs (fig. 8.3) or arranged through the
mithraeum.20 Even if drawing upon widespread ideas about the stars, this suggests a level of
complex astrological significances shared across many mithraea.

Yet despite these broad similarities, there are also marked differences in idioms among
sanctuaries dedicated to Mithras, as the examples of Dura and Dacia will show: variations
that point to the way shared sets of significances and features might be couched in more
localized visual rhetoric.

3.5. Mithras and Sol from the Middle Mithraeum, c. 210 CE. Yale
University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos,

1935.99a.

Dura-Europos

In comparison to other Roman provinces, Syria has yielded few Mithraic monuments.21
Notwithstanding the paucity of the remains, Mithraic monuments from this province have
long played a prominent role in the discussion on regional variety of the cult: chief among
them is the Mithraeum from Dura-Europos, discovered in 1934 and now on display in the
Yale University Art Gallery.

The small provincial town of Dura-Europos is situated on the west bank of the Euphra-
tes. During the last 100 years of its existence, from 165 to 254 CE, the city was a Roman
garrison on the eastern frontier of the Roman Empire. Erected close to the northwest cor-
ner of the city wall by members of a unit of Palmyrene archers shortly after the city fell into
Roman hands in 165 CE, the Dura Mithraeum is the easternmost mithraeum found to
date.22 Dura’s proximity to the Parthian Empire explains the excitement of Franz Cumont,
the founder of Mithraic studies, at its discovery, for Cumont firmly believed that the cult
of Mithras originated in Iran, and he hoped to find at Dura a cult still close to its Iranian
origins. After he had studied the monument with his colleague Michael Rostovtzeff on the
spot, he concluded that the Late Mithraeum, rebuilt around 200 CE and redecorated with
paintings about 40 years later, was in perfect accord with Mithraic monuments discov-
ered throughout the Roman Empire.23 Instead of illustrating the cults Iranian origin, the
Dura Mithraeum became the ultimate proof of the presumed Mithraic orthodoxy of which
Cumont was one of the most ardent advocates.

There can be no doubt that the broad outlines of the cult in Dura are commensurate
with what is known about the cult elsewhere. Still, there are certain features that are unique
and that call for an explanation.24

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Lucinda Dirven and Matthew M. McCarty

As is usual with Mithraic sanctuaries throughout the Roman world, the Dura Mithraeum
is made up of a large rectangular room with benches on either side (fig. 8. 4). 25 Yet in con-
trast to many other known mithraea, it is constructed above ground, an anomaly typically
explained by the natural conditions of the site. Two tauroctony reliefs — Zenobius’s and a
second, smaller one that also dates to the first years of the sanctuary — are set in the back
wall.26 The extensive redecoration of the Mithraeum around 240 CE includes a series of
new wall paintings that were painted over those of the earlier “Middle Mithraeum.” Their
iconography also tallies with what we find elsewhere in the Roman world: around the outer
edge of the larger bas-relief a series of 13 small scenes depict cosmological events as well
as scenes from Mithras’s life that largely concur with the scenes found on either side of cult
reliefs and paintings in the West, including those in Dacia.27 The soffit of the vaulted niche
was decorated with pictures of the 12 signs of the zodiac, another element common in
Mithraic iconography.28 A third tauroctony was painted on the upper part of the outer sur-
face of the arch. In the center is the figure of the bull-slaying Mithras with Cautes to his left.
The figure to his right is completely lost, but was almost certainly Cautopates, holding his
customary lowered torch. On either side of this group are seven cypress trees, alternating
with seven altars. In the midst of the foliage of the tree next to Cautes appears the bust of a
naked child with Phrygian cap.

Several elements in the decoration of the Dura Mithraeum deviate from what we find
elsewhere. In Zenobius’s relief (fig. 8.3), the dedicant and members of his family or, more
probably, of his military unit, attend the bull-killing.29 This feature is unique in Mithraic
iconography but is easily explained by local cultic and artistic traditions, in which it was
common to depict dedicants on cult reliefs.30 In the Middle Mithraeum, members of the
community were pictured on the side walls of the sanctuary, another feature that mirrors
local custom.31 Despite the fact that this is unique to Dura, the innovation is not at odds
with Mithraic iconography as described above and is very much in keeping with other local
religious and dedicatory practices. In the mithraeum, myth and ritual, past and present,
are intertwined at various levels and the attendance of mortals at a mythological event is
another expression of the same phenomenon.

Another unique feature in this relief is the seven small circular forms that are pictured in
a neat line between the knee of the right foreleg of the bull and his left front hoof. Although
often identified as altars, these spherical objects have the wrong shape for an altar.32 Given
the prominence of astrological lore and the seven planets in Mithraic cult, including as pro-
tectors of each grade of initiation, it is more likely that these globules represent the planets.33

Like the innovations outlined above, this particular mode of rendering the planets and
including them in the scene has its closest parallels not in Mithraism, but in other cult ico-
nography of the region. For example, on the lintel from the northern thalamos of the Tem-
ple of Bel in Palmyra, seven balls are arranged alongside the snake that hangs from the claws
of a giant eagle. Here, the balls undoubtedly represent planetary bodies. For the Palmyrene
archers who dedicated the Mithraic relief, this was a familiar image, and it is likely that they
interpreted the balls below the leg of the bull along these lines as well. Local visual idioms,
then, were used to construct and build upon the core axioms and practices of Mithraism,
reinforcing the importance of both astrology and the number seven.

The Dura Mithraeum yielded three representations of the tauroctony, which nicely illus-
trates that this scene was indispensable during the celebration of the rituals. In all likeli-
hood, the painter added a third scene on the arch because the two votive reliefs could not
be seen from the benches in the third and final stage of the sanctuary. The fact that the
reliefs were twice reused and reinstalled for central display after renovations demonstrates
the elevated status of both objects for the Mithraic community. Their importance is at least
partially due to the significance of the dedicants of the reliefs, who probably were the first
leaders of the Mithraic religious community in Dura-Europos.

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Local Idioms and Global Meanings: Mithraism and Roman Provincial Art

The authority of the community’s worldly leaders may be behind another unique image
in the Dura Mithraeum, the two enthroned figures in Persian dress that flank the cult niche
(fig. 8. 6). 34 Both are bearded and hold a scroll in their left hand and a staff in their right. The
staff of the figure on the left-hand side points
down, whereas the staff of his companion is
pointed upward: an image probably inspired
by the twin torchbearers Cautes and Cauto-
pates, one of whom holds an upturned torch,
the other a downturned torch. But whereas
the symbolism is at least partly the same as
elsewhere in the Roman Empire, the two fig-
ures are obviously not torchbearers. Similarly,
their beards preclude identification of the fig-
ures as the youthful Cautes and Cautopates.

Phrygian bonnet and staff are well-attested
attributes of the pater, the religious leader of
Mithraic communities.35 The fact that there are
two figures does not contradict this identifica-
tion; one of the graffiti from the Mithraeum
indicates that this community could have two
patres at the same time.36 Although the ico-
nography is unique, the elevated status of the
pater certainly is not.37 Numerous monuments
illustrate his authority in Mithraic communi-
ties throughout the Roman Empire. Yet here,
even this localized image of the community’s
leaders is inflected via association with Cautes
and Cautopates, and used to depict the “har-
mony of opposites” that seems to sit as one of
Mithraism’s shared and central axioms.38

The most unusual paintings of the
Mithraeum, set on the side walls of the cult
niche, each show a figure on horseback in Par-
thian dress with a Phrygian bonnet, hunting
animals with his bow (fig. 8.7). 39 In the painting on the left-hand side, the figure gallops
toward the cult niche; in the one on the right-hand side, he moves away from the niche.
The horseman is traditionally identified as Mithras. A mounted Mithras hunting animals is
attested thrice in Germania.40 Contrary to the German representations where the horseman
is alone, the mounted hunter appears twice in Dura and seems to move in circles. While
it may be possible that Mithras is pictured twice in Dura, it is equally possible to suppose
that the two paintings represent different figures. This possibility is confirmed by mural
paintings that were recently discovered in a mithraeum in Hawarte (northern Syria), where
Persian horsemen also occur in pairs in fourth-century paintings.41 If we come to think of
twin figures who look like Mithras but who are at the same time differentiated from him,
the twin brothers Cautes and Cautopates immediately spring to mind. Since Cautes and
Cautopates generally appear as opposites — one holding an upturned, the other a down-
turned torch — in both image and meaning,42 it is highly significant that the riders in Dura
are moving in different directions: one charges toward the niche with the reliefs, the other
away from it. Here again, a visual idiom with particular resonance in Syria is chosen to con-
vey significances shared by Mithraic communities across the empire: hunting was of great
importance to the elite in the Iranian world and the high status of this activity no doubt

8.6. Mithraeum reconstruction with enthroned figures highlighted.
Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-

Europos.

8.7. Hunting fresco in Late Mithraeum, c. 240 CE. Yale University
Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1935.100.

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Lucinda Dirven and Matthew M. McCarty

enhanced its appeal among Durene soldiers, many of whom originated from Dura and its
surroundings. Furthermore, armed and mounted twin deities abound in the sculpture of
Dura and through the remainder of Roman Syria. The association of these twins with the
couple Cautes and Cautopates lies close at hand in a Semitic environment.

If art in the Roman provinces is often cast as partaking in a standard visual repertoire,
yet freighting that repertoire with particularly “local” meanings, the Mithraeum at Dura
shows exactly the opposite happening. Through a system of sign -substitution, concepts
common to Mithraic communities across the empire are translated into idioms more com-
mon and recognizable at Dura and to the Palmyrene archers who founded the sanctuary in
the mid-second century. Similarly, Zenobius’s relief is fitted not just into the artistic tradi-
tions of the site, but also into Dura’s social and cultic norms, highlighting both the dedicant
and his associates. Here, a local iconographic motif is adapted and reinterpreted in the light
of the organization of a “foreign” cult. For the local viewer, the Mithraic community is pre-
sented as a close-knit family of soldiers.

The Tauroctonies of Roman Dacia

A brief look at the Mithraic monuments dedicated in the two main urban centers of Dacia,
Apulum and Ulpia Traiana Sarmizegetusa, demonstrates how the practices surrounding
dedication developed and varied at different sanctuaries, as well as the common visual and
semantic systems that made Mithraism a unified package across the empire.

After the Roman conquest of Dacia in the first decade of the second century CE, Apu-
lum became the seat of the legion tasked with maintaining the newly acquired province.
The area itself was comprised of several different settlements: the main legionary camp and
the village that grew up around it, and a civilian colonia just to the south that served as an
important port on the Mure§ River. From these two areas, at least four different mithraea
are known: two around the legionary camp, and two in the colonia.43 Each community had a
slightly different social profile: it seems that the mithraea closer to the legionary camp were
used more heavily by soldiers and veterans than those in the colonia 44

All but three of the 15 tauroctony reliefs from Apulum are large (over 1 m wide),
three -register compositions that seem to follow the same schema as Marcus’s relief (fig.
8.1), even if only four survive mostly intact.45 The bull-killing scene is flanked by scenes of
Mithras riding the bull and then carrying the bull at left, and by a lion drinking from a mix-
ing-bowl and Mithras’s rock-birth at right. In the top and bottom registers, the same set of
scenes unfolds. Above, a figure approaches Mithras, who is seated on a rock and preparing
to fire his bow; then a figure climbs a tree; the bull stands atop a crescent, and to the right,
a small building appears; next, a shepherd leans on his staff amid his flock; and finally, the
god Saturn reclines. In the lower register, although the bottom left corner is broken on all
three, Sol and Mithras dine reclining under the arch of a cave, then Mithras climbs into Sol’s
four-horse chariot, and at right, a bearded figure sits, a snake wound around his lower torso.

Yet despite these similarities, the reliefs were displayed in different mithraea at Apu-
lum: Marcus’s comes from outside the fort, while another comes from the port, and the
others do not have recorded findspots. At Apulum, even if there were multiple cult centers
and Mithraic communities that differed in their social make-up, they were tightly bound
by a common visual idiom. Among the other urban centers known to have had multi-
ple mithraea — Ostia, Heddernheim, Poetovio, Aquincum — there is no evidence for such a
tightly shared visual package.

Notwithstanding the highly standardized triple-register composition and including the
same set of scenes — a combination unknown outside of Apulum, save perhaps in two frag-
ments from Sarmizegetusa46 — these reliefs are also not copies of one another. Some of the
differences among the reliefs are simply in level of embellishment: Marcus’s relief is the

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Local Idioms and Global Meanings: Mithraism and Roman Provincial Art

only one to include the arch of the cave in the tau-
roctony scene, or architectural framing. Variations
also occur in the rendering of individual features:
on two of the reliefs, the lion is shown with its head
in frontal view, while the lion on Marcus’s relief
appears in profile. Cautes and Cautopates hold
their objects differently on each of the three reliefs.

Other differences stem from spatial constraints: on
one of the reliefs, the reclining Saturn is squeezed
into the main register (fig. 8.8). Finally, and per-
haps most interestingly, there is also sign-substitu-
tion: in Figure 8.8, Sol and Luna appear not as busts
(their usual form), but driving chariots in the upper
register.

What is clear from these reliefs is that the mode
of representation was less important than including
all of the key figures and scenes in a specific order,
distinctive to Apulum. The underlying significances
and semantic ties between each scene were what

mattered: not the precise visual idioms. And even g 8 Tauroctony re|ief, late 2"d-early 3rd century CE, Apulum.

if such smaller, narrative vignettes are common on Muzeul National al Unirii, Alba lulia.

Mithraic reliefs, especially in the Danubian prov-
inces, they almost never appear in the same order or include the exact same subset of scenes,
even within a single microregion:47 the level of overlap at Apulum is specific to these two
settlements, and not to Mithraism in general, or even Mithraism in a broader area. Despite
the fact that the Mithraists of Apulum worshipped in different and distinct temples, and that
each temple -community seems to have had a different demographic, there was a common
set of priorities and significances shared at the level of the twin settlements (and apparent
in the reliefs) of Apulum. Social distinctions did little to dictate either the visual formulas
selected, or to inflect the larger package of significances and links created by those schemata.

Sarmizegetusa, the other major urban center in Dacia, presents a very different type
of community and visual koine. Colonists from across the Roman world settled at the for-
mer military camp of Ulpia Traiana Sarmizegetusa in the early second century, and as the
financial capital of Roman Dacia, the town grew steadily to be one of the richest and best
appointed in the province. The city had at least one mithraeum; although only part of the
rear niche of the temple survived, its dimensions suggest that this mithraeum was one of the
largest known in the Roman world, esti-
mated at over four times the size of that at
Dura.48 The sanctuary was probably built
in the 160s or 170s, when a donor, Lucius
Aelius Hylas, dedicated a large tauroctony
relief (fig. 8.9) whose inscription specifies
that the dedication included an apse —
presumably the niche excavated.49

The most striking feature of the
Mithraic community at Sarmizegetusa
is the sheer number of sculpted offer-
ings attested, far more than at any other
mithraeum in the Roman world: over

90 fragments from tauroctony reliefs,
most carved from local Bucova marble,

8.9. Tauroctony relief dedicated by Lucius Aelius Hylas, c. 160-170 CE,
Sarmizegetusa. Muzeul Civilizatiei Dacice si Romane, Deva.

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Lucinda Dirven and Matthew M. McCarty

and almost all part of distinct monuments.50 Based on inscriptions, the dedicants of these
objects came from a range of social statuses and include both those whose careers may have
carried them around the empire (provincial officials, imperial freedmen) and those whose
lives and careers were more firmly rooted around Sarmizegetusa (city councilors, public
priests, and those without any named post).51

In any event, the structure of the Mithraic community at Sarmizegetusa appears much
different than that at Apulum. In the latter city, the Mithraists were divided into a number of
small temple-communities, each made up of individuals who shared vaguely similar back-
grounds (military versus civilian); at Sarmizegetusa, there was one large group comprised
of worshippers of every imaginable background. And within that centralized Mithraic com-
munity, members practiced a particular dedicatory rite, offering small tauroctony reliefs in
very large numbers.

Of these reliefs, only Hylass and one other fragment would have stretched over 1.2 m
wide, further evidence that Hylas’s tauroctony was one of the main dedications in the sanc-
tuary. His relief focuses on the main scene of bull-slaying as it takes place under the rough
arch of a cave. Busts of Sol and Luna, with a crescent behind her, peek over the edges of
the cave. To the left of the bull-slaying, Cautopates stands, holding his usual downturned
torch in his right hand and a scorpion in his left; to the right, Cautes holds his habitual
upturned torch in his right hand, while cradling a bulls head in his left. The fact that the two
attendants’ legs are not crossed and the unusual objects they hold set the relief apart from
other tauroctonies. Even at its founding, the community lacked some “standard” tauroctony
scene unpacked by an imagined Mithraic colporteur.52

Almost all of the other reliefs from Sarmizegetusa are much smaller than Hylass or
those from Apulum, with dimensions between 20 and 30 cm.53 Of the 19 that survive mostly
intact, 10 follow the same basic layout: in a single register, Mithras slays the bull beneath
busts of Sol and Luna, while cross-legged Cautes and Cautopates look on, their bodies
turned frontally, each holding two torches. If Cautes and Cautopates are frequent pres-
ences in tauroctony scenes, only once outside of Dacia do they appear holding two torches
in this manner: this is clearly a visual idiom unique to the province of Dacia in general,
and to Sarmizegetusa in particular.54 For worshippers there, not only was there a uniquely
common dedicatory practice — giving a relief of a specific size — but also a shared, preferred
visual scheme.

It is also important to note that these smaller scenes, if they respond to one another, are
not simply small-scale reproductions of Hylass main relief, for details of the scene — espe-
cially regarding Cautes and Cautopates — differ.55 If, at the moment when this community
was founded, a particular cult image was installed, this did not play an outsize role in shap-
ing the community’s subsequent visual repertoires and preferences.56

Nor is the repetition of this common size and type wholly a matter of production, of
purchasing a given relief either “off-the-rack” or according to the only schema used by a
workshop. If the majority of reconstructable reliefs from Sarmizegetusa fall into the fixed
type described above, other options (including multi- register affairs, akin to Marcus’s relief
from Apulum) were available to dedicants — they simply were not as popular.

At the same time, two further reliefs from Sarmizegetusa demonstrate the ties among
communities of Mithraists across a much larger area. Both are the normal size for offerings
at the site (20-30 cm), yet rather than being carved from local Bucova marble, isotope anal-
ysis reveals that their marble was quarried in Asia Minor.57 Neither relief uses the schemata
popular in Dacia, yet both have features that link them to workshops in Moesia, just south
of Dacia.58 As such, they are probably imported pieces, brought by members of Mithraic
communities in Moesia who had moved to Sarmizegetusa. Many individuals moved among
Mithraic communities as they relocated around the empire; for example, a military com-
mander involved in one of the mithraea at Apulum was later posted to North Africa, where

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Local Idioms and Global Meanings: Mithraism and Roman Provincial Art

he founded a new Mithraic community.59 The imported reliefs at Sarmizegetusa suggest that
the cult of Mithras there, even if elaborated in its own ways, with its own specific dedicatory
habits and visual norms, was not only recognizable to worshippers from other provinces
(and vice versa), but also open to their integration within the community.60

Although found within a single province, each cult community had a different social
profile, a slightly different set of ritual practices (at least as far as dedications went), and dif-
ferent visual idioms for the central, shared tauroctony scene and the Mithras-myth that was
spun behind, around, and through it. The dedicants of reliefs at Sarmizegetusa looked to one
another to work out a common iconography for the sanctuary, rather than to Hylass large,
central tauroctony; this was not the vertical emulation of a major work, but a more horizon-
tal, organic development of norms within a community. However the Mithraic community
was established, whatever image and set of concepts and rites was set at its founding, dedi-
cants then developed their take on practices and the visual idioms from there.

The material from these mithraea also raises challenges to the very notion of the “local”
in the Roman world, a concept and term that has become a catch-all description and expla-
nation for anything in the provinces that seems to depart from classical norms in either
appearance or usage. Localness is fundamentally a slippery concept, dependent upon jux-
taposition with some wider, supra-local frame.61 At Apulum, from a visual and material
standpoint, even sanctuaries in different parts of the settlement were tightly linked via
their common tauroctonies, in marked contrast to other sites with multiple mithraea. The
bonds among these cult- communities may also have extended beyond the settlements of
Apulum to a fort 75 km away at Micia, where this same configuration was repeated on a
tauroctony relief carved of limestone quarried at the site itself, presumably by a Mician
workshop.62 “Localness” in this case was not bounded as a single sanctuary community,
a single settlement, or even a neat geographic area: the imported reliefs at Sarmizegetusa,
the way worshippers of Mithras might move from community to community, demonstrate
that despite these variations, recognizability and commonality among communities spread
far- and- wide was key.

Conclusions

The visual assemblage from Dura appears quite different from those of the Mithraic com-
munities at Apulum and Sarmizegetusa, and although several rites (initiations, communal
meals) were held in common, each of these communities may have engaged in somewhat
different dedicatory practices. Many of the differences are the result of sign-substitutions, or
particular embellishments, and of the way individual communities, or networks of Mithraic
communities, developed their own visual norms and practices, both internally (Sarmize-
getusa) and with reference to local visual traditions (Dura). If the astrological framework
of Mithraism might not be as striking in the tauroctony scenes of Dacia as at Dura (where
planets are couched in a local visual idiom) and elsewhere, this astrological valence was
frequently highlighted in the miniature cosmos of the mithraeum itself, and in the kinds
of painted and architectural decoration not preserved in Dacia — a difference in emphasis.
This flexibility in the visual idioms used hints at how the shared basis of Mithraism was not
entirely constructed through, mediated by, or freighted upon, the images themselves: in-
stead, whatever significance was shared existed at least partly autonomous of the particular
iconographies, perhaps connected more firmly to shared ritual practices.

In addition, whatever variations there were among the visual idioms of Mithraic com-
munities, this was not necessarily predicated upon the social backgrounds of the dedicants.
At Apulum, a number of Mithraic communities, both soldierly and civilian, shared a com-
mon tauroctony type, while dedicants of all statuses and positions at Sarmizegetusa offered
reliefs of a common schema and dimension. Yet at Dura, in carrying the local tradition of

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Lucinda Dirven and Matthew M. McCarty

including the dedicant and his family on votive reliefs onto his tauroctony, Zenobius also
adapts that tradition to reflect his Mithraic “family.”

Art related to the cult of Mithras may well be an exceptional case when compared to
the other arts of Romes provinces, given the way it was interwoven with myth and ritual.
Yet Mithraic art should serve as a cautionary case for some of the current trends in Roman
provincial studies, whether they focus on the primacy of social position in dictating image
choice, with images serving simply as instruments for the structuration of communities;
or the facile equation of varied signs with varied significances; or the search for divergent
valences behind shared visual idioms (their polysemous potential notwithstanding!).

These, however, are far from being final conclusions; if they further problematize issues
of the “local” and the dichotomies between signs and the signified in Roman provincial art,
they raise an equally large number of questions about how the symbol-package stayed so
coherent — a consistency that is not paralleled in the remains of any other cult at the time,
whether polytheistic, Jewish, or Christian. How did this Mithraic set of significances move
around the Roman Empire while remaining largely intact, especially in the absence of a
trans-sanctuary hierarchy?

If nothing else, Mithraism remains a prime “think-space” for understanding art, reli-
gion, and traditions in the Roman Empire.

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Local Idioms and Global Meanings: Mithraism and Roman Provincial Art

1 Sarah Scott and Jane Webster, eds., Roman Imperialism and Provincial Art (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 2003).

2 E.g., Greg Woolf, Becoming Roman: The Origins of Provincial Civilization in Roman Gaul (Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998); David J. Mattingly, “Family Values: Art and Power at
Ghirza in the Libyan Pre-Desert,” in Roman Imperialism and Provincial Art, 153-70.

3 Robert Turcan, “Hierarchie sacerdotale et astrologie dans les mysteres de Mithra,” in La science
des cieux, ed. Rika Gyselen (Leuven: Peeters, 1999), 249-61 is an important exception, argu-
ing (unconvincingly, on the basis of absence of evidence) that the seven grades of initiation
into Mithraism, and the idea that each fell under the protection of a given planet, were not
widespread, but local ways of accommodating current ideological and philosophical trends into
individual cult communities. Wolfgang Spickermann, “Mysteriengemeinde und Offentlichkeit:
Uberlegungen zur Integration von Mysterienkulten in die lokalen Panthea in Gallien und Ger-
manien,” in Gruppenreligionen im romischen Reich, ed. Jorg Riipke (Tubingen: Mohr Siebeck,
2007), 127-60, also suggests that in Germania, mithraea made an effort to accommodate local
panthea — although this had little effect on the core of “Mithraism,” and was simply a way of
boosting the cult’s popularity in an inherently conservative society.

4 On “doctrine”: Roger Beck, The Religion of the Mithras Cult in the Roman Empire (Oxford: Ox-
ford University Press, 2006) offers the most nuanced account, while distancing himself from
notions of “doctrine” as an all-encompassing, fully fleshed-out system of philosophy. He suggests
(59) that it might more usefully apply to “doctrinal themes” established by a colporteur of the cult
and subsequently spun by local communities from the monuments themselves. In general: Rich-
ard Gordon, “Panelled Complications,” Journal ofMithraic Studies 3 (1979/80): 200-227. On the
addition or lack of the outer scenes as being “loquacious” or not in style, rather than substance:
Beck, Religion of the Mithras Cult, 58, suggesting that aberrations “exemplify general Mithraic
doctrine rather than local elaboration.” On Dura in particular as only local in “style”: Susan B.
Downey, “Syrian Images of Mithras Tauroctonos,” in Etudes Mithriaques: Actes du 2e Congres
International, Teheran, du ler au 8 septembre 1975, ed. Jacques Duchesne-Guillemin (Leiden:
Brill, 1978), 135-49. On Dacian workshops and preferences for specific figural types: Gabriel
Sicoe, “Lokalproduktion und Importe: Der Fall des mithraischen Reliefs aus Dakien,” in Roman
Mithraism: The Evidence of the Small Finds, ed. Marleen Martens and Guy de Boe (Brussels: Mu-
seum Het Toreke, 2004), 285-302.

5 Manfred Clauss, The Roman Cult of Mithras: The God and His Mysteries, trans. Richard Gordon
(Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2000), xx-xi.

6 Robert Turcan, “Feu et sang: A propos d’un relief mithriaque,” CRAI 130, no. 1 (1986): 221; cf.
David Ulansey, The Origins of the Mithraic Mysteries: Cosmology and Salvation in the Ancient
World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989).

7 Robert Turcan, Mithra et le mithriacisme (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2004), 72: “un ‘bible’ illustre.”

8 Turcan, “Feu et sang,” 221.

9 Beck, Religion of the Mithras Cult.

10 Maria Corina Nicolae, “Cult Images and Mithraic Reliefs in Roman Dacia,” Transylvanian Re-
view 20 (2011): 69-76; “cult image” is itself not an unproblematic category. Richard Gordon,
“Small and Miniature Reproductions of the Mithraic Cult Icon,” in Roman Mithraism, 259-84,
looks at miniature tauroctony scenes to suggest that they may have been personal devotionals —
yet another use for this type of scene.

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Lucinda Dirven and Matthew M. McCarty

1 1 On the fluidity of the Greek terms, Arthur Darby Nock, “Hellenistic Mysteries and Christian
Sacraments,” Mnemosyne 5 (1952): 177-213.

12 John Scheid, Quand faire, c’est croire (Paris: Aubier, 2005).

13 Manfred Clauss, Cultores Mithrae (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1990); Roger Beck, “The Mysteries of Mi-
thras: A New Account of Their Genesis,” Journal of Roman Studies 88 (1998): 115-28, for origins;
Valerie Huet, “Reliefs mithriaques et reliefs romains ‘traditionnels,’” in Les religions orientales
dans le monde grec et romain, ed. Corinne Bonnet et al. (Turnhout: Brepols, 2009), 233-56,
demonstrating the intentional “othering” at play in the tauroctony scenes.

14 Although, admittedly, mithraea are often identified primarily through the discovery of tauroc-
tony scenes — potentially breeding a circular argument here.

15 Clauss , Cultores Mithrae.

16 Which is not to say that all cult activity took place in the Mithraeum itself; at Tienen, large ban-
quets for more people than the indoor space could accommodate were held in the area around
the sanctuary: Marleen Martens, “Rethinking Sacred Rubbish: The Ritual Deposits of the Temple
of Mithras at Tienen,” Journal of Roman Archaeology 17 (2004): 333-53. Unfortunately, we lack
groundplans for the mithraea of Dacia.

17 On the links between ritual, representation, and myth in mithraea: Roger Beck, “Ritual, Myth,
Doctrine, and Initiation in the Mysteries of Mithras: New Evidence from a Cult Vessel,” Journal
of Roman Studies 90 (2000): 145-80.

18 Robert Turcan, Mithras Platonicus (Leiden: Brill, 1975).

19 Porph., De Antr. Nymph. 6.

20 Richard Gordon, “The Sacred Geography of a Mithraeum: The Example of Sette Sfere,” Journal
of Mithraic Studies 1 (1976): 119-65.

21 On Mithraic monuments in Syria, see Downey, “Syrian Images of Mithras Tauroctonos”; Lewis
M. Hopfe, “Mithraism in Syria,” in Aufstieg und Niedergang der romischen Welt (ANRW) 18.4, ed.
Wolfgang Haase (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1990), 2214-35 and Richard Gordon, “Trajects de
Mithra en Syrie romaine,” Topoi Orient-O ccident 11, no. 1 (2001): 77-136.

22 Lucinda Dirven, The Palmyrenes of Dura-Europos: A Study of Religious Interaction in Roman
Syria (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 260. Yulia Ustinova, “New Latin and Greek Rock-Inscriptions from
Uzbekistan,” Hephaistos 18 (2000): 169-79, argued that Mithras was worshipped in a natural
cave in Kara-Kamar by members of the Legion XV Apollinaris. The letters “I M” in an extremely
fragmentary inscription are the only evidence for this and so it fails to convince the present au-
thors.

23 The greater part of the final building dates back to the second building stage, which took place
between 209 and 211 CE and was initiated by a centurion of the Legions IV Scythia and XVI
Flavia Firma. The paintings date to a third and final stage in the life of the sanctuary, around
240 CE. Four preliminary reports of the Mithraeum have been published so far: Franz Cumont,
“Rapport sur une mission archeologique a Doura-Europos,” CRAI 78, no. 2 (1934): 90-11 1; Mi-
chael Rostovtzeff, “Das Mithraeum von Dura,” Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archaologe: Instituts,
Romische Abteilung 49 (1934): 180-207; Rostovtzeff, “The Mithraeum,” in The Excavations at
Dura-Europos: Preliminary Report of the 7th and 8th Seasons of Work, 1933-1934 and 1934-1935,
ed. Michael Rostovtzeff, Frank Brown, and C. Bradford Welles (New Haven: Yale University
Press, 1939): 62-134; Franz Cumont, “The Dura Mithraeum,” ed. and trans. E. D. Francis, in

138

Local Idioms and Global Meanings: Mithraism and Roman Provincial Art

Mithraic Studies: Proceedings of the First International Congress ofMithraic Studies Vol. 1, ed. John
R. Hinnels (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1975), 151-214.

24 Nicole Belayche, “L’imagerie des divinites ‘orientales,’” in Religions orientales-culti misterici: Neue
Perspektive-nouvelles perspectives-prospettive nuove, ed. Corinne Bonnet, Jdrg Riipke, and Paolo
Scarpi (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2006), 123-33, recently denied the Syrian, provincial character of these
monuments and argued in favor of a variety that was determined by the hierarchy of the local
community (i.e., the pater). There was, however, more local variety in the artistic expressions of
the cult than Belayche suggests in her article. In our view, these variations are largely the result
of local artistic traditions and they do not necessarily express deviant religious notions. The
mithraeum from Hawarte is an exception, since the representations in this mithraeum testify to
non-Mithraic influences on the ideas of this community.

25 Jonas Bjornebye, ‘“Hie locus est felix, sanctus, piusque benignus’: The Cult of Mithras in Fourth
Century Rome” (PhD diss., University of Bergen, Norway, 2007), 13-20, https://bora.uib.no
/bitstream/handle/1956/2229/Dr._Avh._%20Jonas_Bjoernebye.pdf?sequence=1000.

26 Ibid., 98-111.

27 On these scenes and the vexed question whether they represent a sacred narrative, see Gordon,
“Panelled Complications.”

28 Like the mythological scenes, the series starts at the top of the vault and reads counterclockwise.
The first two signs, Aries and Taurus, have disappeared. Below are Gemini, Cancer, Leo, and Vir-
go. The series continues at the bottom on the right with Libra, followed by Scorpio, Sagittarius,
and Capricorn. The two upper signs, Aquarius and Pisces, are missing.

29 Dirven, Palmyrenes of Dura-Europos, 271-72.

30 Downey, “Syrian Images of Mithras Tauroctonos,” 141.

31 In Dura see, for example, the so-called sacrifice of Konon and the paintings from the naos of
the Temple of Zeus Theos: Maura K. Heyn, “The Terentius Frieze in Context,” in Dura-Europos:
Crossroads of Antiquity, ed. Lisa R. Brody and Gail L. Hoffman, exh. cat. (Chestnut Hill: McMul-
len Museum of Art, Boston College, 2011), 221-31; Frank Brown, “The Temple of Zeus Theos,”
in Preliminary Report 7-8, 196-210.

32 Cf. Downey, “Syrian Images of Mithras Tauroctonos,” 143.

33 Interestingly, similar balls occur in a highly enigmatic scene on a relief from Jerusalem that prob-
ably originates from Syria as well: Albert de Jong, “A New Syrian Mithraic Tauroctony,” Bulletin
of the Asia Institute 1 1 (2000): 53-63, esp. 56, fig. 2. These balls may not represent planets.

34 Both Cumont, “The Dura Mithraeum,” 182-83 and Rostovtzeff, “Das Mithraeum von Dura,”
110-11, identify these figures as the Persian magi Zoroaster and Osthanes. Since they are never
attested in mithraea, and no portraits of Zoroaster are known prior to the nineteenth century,
this is not likely.

35 Richard Gordon, “Ritual and Hierarchy in the Mysteries of Mithras,” Arys 4 (2001): 245-73, esp.
255-58.

36 Rostovtzeff, “Das Mithraeum von Dura,” 87, no. 848 (211-212 CE).

37 The closest iconographic parallel comes from the Santa Prisca in Rome, where on the side wall
on the right-hand side, the father of the community is show enthroned while he receives offer-
ings brought by lions: Maarten J. Vermaseren, The Excavations in the Mithraeum of the Church of

139

Lucinda Dirven and Matthew M. McCarty

Santa Prisca in Rome (Leiden: Brill, 1965), 155, plate 59.

38 For “axioms,” see Beck, Religion of the Mithras Cult.

39 Rostovtzeff, “Das Mithraeum von Dura,” 190-95, plate 13; Cumont, “Rapport sur un mission
archeologique,” 102; Rostovtzeff, “The Mithraeum,” 1 12-15, plates 14, 15; Maarten J. Vermaseren,
Corpus Inscriptionum et Monumentorum Religionis Mithriacae (CIMRM) (The Hague: Nijhoff,
1956), 1, no. 52; Cumont, “The Dura Mithraeum,” 186-92, plate 24. For a more extensive corrob-
oration of the new interpretation proposed here, see Lucinda Dirven, “A New Interpretation of
the Mounted Hunters in the Mithraeum of Dura-Europos,” in Festschrift for Susan Downey, ed.
Maura K. Heyn and Ann Steinsapir (forthcoming).

40 CIMRM 1 137B (Riickingen: Mithras with lasso instead of a bow); 1247A (Dieburg); 1292 (Oster-
burken).

41 In the cult room, near the southwest corner is a panel that pictures a hunting party that consists
of two horsemen in Persian dress: Michal Gawlikowski, “The Mithraeum at Hawarte and Its
Paintings,” Journal of Roman Archaeology 20 (2007): 337-61, esp. 358-60. In the vestibule of the
same mithraeum, two riders that stand next to their horses flank the entrance to the cult-room:
ibid., 353, fig. 9. Cf. Gordon, “Trajects de Mithra en Syrie romaine,” 111, fig. 18.

42 On Cautes and Cautopates in general, see John R. Hinnells, “The Iconography of Cautes and
Cautopates: The Data,” Journal of Mithraic Studies 1 (1976): 36-67; Clauss, Roman Cult of Mi-
thras, 95-98.

43 Two mithraea from the municipium Septimium : one was located on the land of S. Oancea ( CIM-
RM 1953; present location unknown), and the second, on the current Bulevardul 1 Decembrie
1918, is currently under investigation. A third has tentatively been identified within the legion-
ary camp, though the attribution is unlikely ( CIMRM 1968). In the colonia, a number of finds
are reported from modern Partos, presumably from an unexcavated mithraeum, although they
might come from the (probably second) mithraeum currently under excavation.

44 Csaba Szabo, “Cultul lui Mithras in Apulum” (master’s thesis, Babes -Bolyai University, Cluj-Na-
poca, 2012).

45 I include a relief from Vinju de Jos (CIMRM 2000), which likely comes from Apulum.

46 CIMRM 2036, 2044.

47 Gordon, “Panelled Complications.”

48 Pal Kiraly, “A Sarmizegetusal Mithraeum,” Archaeologiai Kozlemenyek 15 (1886); CIMRM 2027.

49 CIMRM 2006/7: “To Jupiter the Unconquered Sun, the father-god, born from stone. Lucius Ae-
lius Hylas, a freedman, for the health of both his son Horiens and his wife Apuleia, erected an
image of the divine with an apse out of his vow.” Although found at Do$tat, the relief is said to
have come from Sarmizegetusa, a provenance likely confirmed by its medium (Bucova marble)
and technique: Dorin Alicu et al., Figured Monuments from Ulpia Traiana Sarmizegetusa (Ox-
ford: British Archaeological Reports, 1979), 115, no. 252; Sicoe, “Lokalproduktion und Importe,”
285-87.

50 Alicu et al., Figured Monuments, 101-16.

51 Clauss, Cultores Mithrae, 202-4.

52 Community-founders as colporteurs: Richard Gordon, “Who Worshipped Mithras?,” Journal of
Roman Archaeology 7 (1994): 459-74.

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Local Idioms and Global Meanings: Mithraism and Roman Provincial Art

53 Only six of the reliefs can be reconstructed with dimensions over the standard 20-30 cm size;
another two are smaller (under 20 cm).

54 Cf. Sicoe, “Lokalproduktion und Importe.” Five reliefs of this type appear outside of Sarmizege-
tusa: from Ozd, Dierna, Potaissa, Banat, and — the only example outside of Dacia — from Miline,
in Dalmatia.

55 Sicoe, “Lokalproduktion und Importe,” 287.

56 This stands in contrast to the phenomena seen at other sanctuaries in the Roman world, where
the main statue served as a model and its own “center” for subsequent “peripheral” dedications:
Matthew M. McCarty, “Beyond Centers and Peripheries, Models and Diffusions: Art in Ro-
man Africa” in Roma y las provincias, ed. Trinidad Nogales and Isabel Roda (Rome: L’Erma de
Bretschneider, 2011), 439-48.

57 Harald W. Muller et al„ “Marbles in the Roman Province of Dacia,” in Archeomateriaux: marbres
et autres roches, ed. Max Schvoerer (Bordeaux: CRPAA-Presses Universitaires de Bordeaux,
1999).

58 Sicoe, “Lokalproduktion und Importe.”

59 CIMRM 1950; CIMRM 137.

60 Further examples: Gordon, “Small and Miniature Reproductions.”

61 Tim Whitmarsh, “Thinking Local,” in Local Knowledge and Microidentities in the Imperial Greek
World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 1-16.

62 CIMRM 2018.

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iiMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMii

Provincial Cults of Mars in the Roman Empire

Tyler V. Franconi

Introduction

Disentangling the complex identity of the Roman god Mars during the imperial period
requires an examination of the mythological, propagandistic, and religious traditions that
surrounded the deity and an understanding of each within its own context. Traditionally
viewed as the Roman god of war, Mars had a deep history with the Roman people, stretch-
ing from the early republic through the late empire, making any single interpretation of the
god potentially precarious and imprecise. Instead, an appreciation must be gained for the
dynamic identities of Mars and where they fit into daily Roman life. Such an appreciation is
best achieved through a careful consideration of epigraphic and archaeological data.

A detailed examination of Mars in the empire is noticeably absent, though several stud-
ies of earlier periods do exist.1 This paper offers an overview of the main archaeological
data known relating to Mars throughout the Roman Empire, with a particular emphasis on
epigraphic material. By highlighting the breadth of this data, it can be seen that during the
imperial period, the cult of Mars spread far outside of its traditional home in Italy and, in
doing so, developed new identities within the provinces of Rome. The multiplicity of cults
that developed simultaneously throughout the empire suggests a deity far more complex
than a simple war god, and thus an understanding of this material radically changes popu-
lar conceptions of the role of Mars within the Roman pantheon.

Background — Republican Traditions

As the mythological progenitor of Romulus and Remus, Mars was involved in Roman life
from the very start. Mars was one of the original three main deities of Rome, the so-called
Archaic Triad of Jupiter, Mars, and Quirinus,2 remembered in the flamines maiores of the
flamen dialis (priest of Jupiter), flamen martialis (priest of Mars), and the flamen quirinalis
(priest of Quirinus). Over the course of the republican era, Mars developed two spheres of
influence: agriculture and warfare. Despite their apparent opposition, both were closely tied
together and linked to the calendar. Planting was finished by early March, when soldiers
would depart for war. They would return to the city in October, when the harvesting season
began. Both transitions — the departure and arrival — were commemorated in a series of
festivals in March and October that were dedicated to Mars. The quinquatrus of March 19

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Tyler V. Franconi

and the tubilustrum of March 23 prepared the weapons and trumpets and, by extension, the
soldiers themselves for their departure for war from the city of Rome. Their re-admittance
to the city and subsequent purification of the soldiers was accomplished by the armilustrum
of October 19. Mars’s zone of influence was firmly outside the pomerium of the city, with
his main temples located on the Campus Martius and outside the Porta Capena. The Salian
priests annually circled the city while singing their hymns to Mars, a ritual which has been
linked to purifying the military for departure and arrival.3

Mars’s role in liminal zones is also reflected in several prayers specifically intended to
protect the harvest. Cato ( Agr. : 21) outlines a sacrifice to Mars that would protect the fields
from ruin and bring a good harvest. Similarly, the carmen arvale begs Mars to defend against
disease and destruction, specifically by guarding the threshold.4 The field, like the city, was
protected by Mars, though his realm was outside its borders. The liminal nature of Mars led
Udo Scholz to refer to him as a “god of the outside,”5 and Vincent Rosivach to consider him
a lustral god.6 To cross these borders, one had to cross Mars — this could be accomplished by
those ritually purified but hopefully not by those seeking to bring ruin or disease into the
farm or city.

The Imperial Transformation of Mars

By the time of Augustus, the boundaries of Rome had come to include a great deal more
territory than the pomerium of the republican city. The imperial legions, in existence from
the late second century BCE onward, no longer departed from Rome in March to return in
October. Rather, they were permanently stationed in camps around the limits of the empire.
The fields of Italy were no longer annually plagued by raiding parties seeking to destroy the
harvest. In the face of these changes, the original purposes behind the rituals and worship
of Mars were no longer necessary

It is in this context that we must understand the developments of the cult under Augus-
tus. First, Mars’s identity was re-imagined in Augustan-era literature to emphasize his role
as progenitor of the Roman people, alongside Venus as the progenitor of the gens lulii.
Virgil (Aen, 4.872) termed the city of Rome as “ Mavortis ,” that is “of [the ancient] Mars,” in
order to link the divine heritage of Romulus. The Greek myth of Ares and Aphrodite was
appropriated to Mars and Venus, not to conflate the identities of Greek and Roman deities,
but rather to give popular allegory to the imperial lineage.7 The cult statue in the Temple
of Mars Ultor in the Augustan forum was flanked by Venus and Divus Iulius, permanently
linking the three, a scene replicated on the Algiers Relief.8 By building this temple in the
heart of Rome, Augustus broke the tradition of Mars as a liminal protector and, in doing so,
created a new mythology for the god — that of father and protector of the imperial house-
hold and the Roman Empire. Mars was no longer a “god of the outside”; instead, he took a
new position at the head of the Roman pantheon.

Augustus built two temples of Mars: the Temple of Mars on the Capitoline Hill, com-
pleted in 20 BCE to house the returned Parthian standards, and the great temple in Augus-
tus’s forum, completed in 2 BCE, in memory of his victory at Philippi 40 years earlier.
Augustus attributed the defeat of Caesar’s murderers at Philippi and the return of the lost
Parthian standards to the divine retribution of Mars Ultor. The new temple in the forum
became the venue for preparation of war and point of departure for generals on campaign.
Captured arms and armor from enemies were also stored in the temple. Future emperors
maintained the tradition of dedicating weaponry to Mars upon victory, as can be seen in
Tiberius’s dedication of German weapons to Mars, Jupiter, and Augustus (Tac., Ann. 2.22).
Caligula is said to have dedicated three swords intended for his assassination to Mars (Suet.,
Calig. 24.3), and Vitellius sent the dagger with which Otho committed suicide to the Temple
of Mars in Cologne (Suet., Vit. 10.3). Trajan dedicated the column in his forum, its base

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Provincial Cults of Mars in the Roman Empire

decorated with captured Dacian arms, on May 12, 113 CE, the date of the original dedica-
tion of the Temple of Mars on the Capitoline, and it is likely that the Tropaeum Traiani in
Adamclisi, Romania, with its own inscribed dedication to Mars Ultor, was dedicated on the
same day.9

This emphasis of the martial aspects of Mars often overshadowed other sides of the
deity, and it is probably for this reason that he is remembered as a war god above all else.
There is much archaeological evidence from elsewhere in the Roman world, however, for a
wider range of attributes of Mars with a much
broader applicability than warfare.

Mars in the Feriale Duranum

These instances of imperial interaction with
Mars should be compared, for example, to the
public festivals and holidays preserved in the
Feriale Duranum (fig. 9.1), a papyrus dating
to 225-227 CE, found during the excavation
of the records room of the cohors XX Palmy-
renorum in Dura-Europos.10 As a list of festi-
vals observed by the Roman army, the Feriale
is a unique document that records numerous
Roman holidays otherwise unattested in many
areas of the empire. Though the entirety of the
year is not preserved in the document, five
separate sacrifices to Mars are recorded: Janu-
ary 3 and January 7 to Mars Pater, March 1 to
Mars Pater Victor for his birthday, March 13
to Mars possibly to commemorate the old equirria, and May 12 to Mars Pater Ultor on the
occasion of his games, commemorating the dedication of his temple in Rome in 20 BCE.
Were October not lost, we would expect other feriae on October 15 and possibly October
19, commemorating the ancient rituals of welcoming the army back into Rome. With five
feriae. Mars is named more than any other deity in the document.

The feriae mentioned are an interesting mix of republican and imperial traditions that
demonstrate a long history of public worship. Soldiers observed these festivals as part of
their official military religion — that is, festivals that soldiers were obliged to observe as a
group. Group observance of official Roman holidays helped integrate soldiers not only into
their unit but also into the wider sphere of Roman public life.11 That such rituals were being
performed in Dura-Europos on the easternmost edge of the empire in the third century CE
speaks to the reach of Roman religion within the military.

Mars is otherwise rarely attested in the Roman East, despite the large number of troops
stationed along the frontier. In the West, Roman soldiers were actively engaged in the wor-
ship of Mars in both official and private religious contexts, resulting in a mass of evidence
unparalleled in the East. That private worship seems not to have taken place in the East is
indicative of the power of local religious traditions and how they interacted with soldiers’
lives. What follows, therefore, largely comes from the West.

The Roman Army and the Cult of Mars

Mars was thus a central part of military religion, a claim which is supported by ample ev-
idence for soldiers’ involvement in the cult of Mars across the empire. While the Feriale
Duranum is a unique document, the existence of particularly military cult places, epigraphic

9.1. Feriale Duranum, 225-227 CE, Dura-Europos. Beinecke Rare
Book and Manuscript Library, Papyrus Collection, Yale University,
P. CtYBR inv. DP 2:2.

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Tyler V. Franconi

dedications, and the votive deposition of weaponry and other militaria in sanctuaries add
depth and complexity unknown in written documents. The reasons behind military patron-
age of Mars may seem clear from the martial ideals emphasized by Roman emperors, but the
reality of soldiers’ involvement was much more personalized.

Several instances of sanctuaries of Mars on or near Roman military sites are known. At
Housesteads on Hadrians Wall in Britain, a rectangular building south of the fort was iden-
tified as a temple to Mars Thincsus (presumably a German deity) and the Alaisiagae based
on a large inscription in the doorjamb.12 At Walldurn, an Antonine-period fort on the limes
Germanicus, an inscription records the existence of a temple to Mars and Victoria, though
it has not yet been found in excavation.13 At Windisch, a first- century CE legionary fortress
in northern Switzerland, a temple of Mars was built in the middle of the fortress and main-
tained beyond the departure of the legion under Trajan.14 In Libya, a rectangular temple
was found outside the fort at Bu Njem dedicated to Mars Canapphar (presumably a Libyan
deity) Augustus under the Severans.15 Soldiers are also known to have restored temples in
Bonn, Augsburg, and Regensburg.16

Soldiers did not leave the majority of dedicatory inscriptions to Mars, but they were still
a prevalent group, accounting for 30% of the corpus. Perhaps one of the most interesting
groups of inscriptions left by soldiers comes from Zoui, a Roman statio near the African
frontier.17 Eight inscriptions were found on the site, one altar, six cippi, and an inscribed
column capital. Lour were dedicated to Mars Augustus, three to Mars Victor, and one sim-
ply to Mars. Two inscriptions contain phrases that are worth mentioning, as they perhaps
shed more light on the reasons for following Mars than any other god in the empire. One
cippus reads:18

To the god Mars and the sacred Genius of the scholae of the Benficiarii, Paco-
nius Castus, beneficiarius consularis of the legio III Augusta, released his vow
with his term of service completed.

Another cippus reads:19

To Jupiter Optimus Maximus, Mars Victor, the helpful gods and the Genius
of the statio Vazanitanae, Saturninus, beneficiarius of the legio III Augusta,
willingly released his vow as deserved on completing his term and being
promoted to Centurion of the legio II Italica.

As they completed their term of service at the site, they saw fit to give special thanks to Mars
(and other gods); we may infer that the other inscriptions found on the site were similarly left,
though none preserve such specific phrasing.

This act of thanksgiving at the end of a term can be paralleled by several other instances
around the empire. A small sanctuary was built in the legionary camp of Vindonissa, mod-
ern-day Windisch, during the first century CE.20 This temple remained in use after the camp
was abandoned under Trajan, and votive deposition continued. One of the most interesting
finds from the temple was a military diploma, dated to 122 CE, belonging to a soldier of
the tenth cohort of Praetorian guards who originally hailed from Turin, Italy.21 Because the
diploma was issued 20 years after the departure of the legion from Windisch, we must ask
how this diploma ended up on the site. It is possible that it was left as a votive offering in the
temple sometime after the soldier s discharge, probably toward the end of his life. If so, the
dedication of the diploma invokes a similar message as the inscriptions from Zoui — thank-
ing Mars for surviving his service.

Along with these instances, we must also consider the weapons and armor finds from
numerous temples across the region. While the practice of emperors dedicating enemy
weaponry to Mars was outlined above, many soldiers also chose to dedicate their own arms

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Provincial Cults of Mars in the Roman Empire

and armor to Mars in sanctuaries across the empire. Weapons and armor deposited by
soldiers at sanctuary sites were intended as thanks offerings for divine protection during
military service.22 The deposition of the very tools that kept soldiers safe and alive through
their service was an important and meaningful acknowledgment to the end of a military
career. When combined with the epigraphic evidence from Zoui and the diploma from
Windisch, the practice of post-service thanksgiving appears to have been widespread (at
least in the Roman West). It is tempting to see an echo of the earlier republican rituals of
purification and re-entry into society in these actions. Therefore, it was not a violent god
of war that soldiers followed; rather, it was a protective deity who looked after the safety of
Roman troops during their service.

The Spread of the Cult of Mars throughout the Empire

The Roman military was undoubtedly a major component of the distribution and dissemi-
nation of the cult of Mars throughout the empire. Because soldiers were often the first group
sent into a new territory, it is unsurprising that they would act as cultural intermediaries
to friendly foreigners, particularly in explaining their main deities. Epigraphy is the most
useful and straightforward way to examine the distribution of the cult, with over 900 in-
scriptions to Mars known from over 475 locations in the empire (fig. 9.2). Most of these are
from the Roman West, and over half come from the provinces of Italy, Germania Superior,
and Gallia Narbonensis.23

Soldiers accounted for only 30% of these inscriptions, demonstrating a large civilian fol-
lowing and involvement in cult activities. The transmission of Mars as a protective deity
by the military surely influenced the uptake in worship throughout the empire, augmented
in turn by official “state” religion that emphasized the connection between Mars and the
emperor. This is particularly evident in the abundance of inscriptions dedicated to Mars

147

Tyler V. Franconi

9.3. Distribution of inscriptions naming Mars Augustus in Roman Empire.

Augustus, the most common epithet used with Mars, with 120 examples known across the
empire (fig. 9.3). The range of epithets used in inscriptions helps differentiate regional and
interpersonal variations in worship as they specified the god or aspect of the god that was
being contacted. Mars had no less than 106 distinct epithets, only 25 of which were Latin.
While Augustus was the most popular, Victor, Conservator, Pater, and Militarus were also
common. Many of these epithets were also used in legends on imperial coinage, which surely
helped their dissemination.24

The other 81 epithets were from non-Latin languages, mainly Celtic, though with some
German and one Libyan example, mentioned above, as well. Inscriptions using non-Latin
epithets account for about half of the inscriptions in the Gallic, German, and British prov-
inces. The exact meaning of many of these non-Latin epithets is unknown, though it is clear
that their intentions and uses varied. Some joined Mars with non-Roman deities: Lenus Mars
is perhaps the best example, where the main tribal deity of the Treveri was joined with Mars.
The large cult center in Trier acted as a healing sanctuary, an otherwise uncharacteristic ele-
ment of the Mars mythos. Others linked Mars with tribes or tribal areas — Mars Caturix was
the main deity of the Caturiges in the western Alps. Still others were probably simple adjec-
tives added to emphasize a specific aspect of Mars— Mars Loucetius has been suggested as
Mars “the shining.”25

These epithets have garnered great attention, particularly those that suggest the inclu-
sion of Mars within a non-Roman pantheon or the joining of Mars with a non-Roman deity.
These cases, often explained as Romanization, interpretatio Romana, or creolization,26 were
complex cultural interactions that are not necessarily so easy to categorize or explain. The
exact motives for the joining of Mars with non-Roman deities, particularly in the Celtic
regions of the empire, are largely lost to us. It seems probable, however, that those aspects
of Mars which were emphasized as protective or fatherly were attractive to a wide range of

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Provincial Cults of Mars in the Roman Empire

cultures attempting to reconcile their own indigenous traditions with those of the Roman
newcomers.

It is instructive to consider the two earliest dated inscriptions to Mars from the German
frontier, both of which were left by soldiers in the Julio -Claudian period.27 Both inscriptions
were dedicated to Mars with non-Latin epithets, Mars Loucetius and Mars Halamardus,
indicating that the process of religious syncretism was already well underway and soldiers
were involved from the very beginning. The integration of Mars into local religious traditions
made him a sort of genius loci, and therefore soldiers were happy to take part in both aspects
of his cult— the official state aspects as well as new, local guises.

Conclusions: Provincial Cults of Mars in the Roman Empire

The ample evidence for worship of Mars in the Roman Empire demonstrates that Mars was
a popular god with wide applicability across many provincial cultures. Augustan propagan-
da emphasized Mars as a deity with close links to the protection of the imperial family, the
Roman military, and the Roman people. This Roman state religion was transmitted through
the monuments and traditions of the city of Rome, coinage, and the Roman military. The
particular adherence of the Roman military to official state religion helped ensure some
commonality in worship of Mars across the empire, but interactions between the military
and local societies helped nuance and differentiate regional traditions. He was particularly
popular in the Celtic West, where his assimilation resulted in a multiplicity of local cult-fol-
lowings of Mars, each with their own particular traditions and rituals. In this region, his
assimilation resulted in a multiplicity of local cult- followings of Mars, each with its own
particular traditions and rituals. It is also clear from epigraphic evidence across the empire
that worship of Mars was closely related to the imperial cult and the desire to bring wellbe-
ing to the imperial household.

The Feriale Duranum supplies our best evidence for official ceremonies and festivals of
Mars during the High Empire. Beyond this point in history, Mars figured prominently in the
propaganda of Maximian and was still incorporated into Tetrarchic iconography on the Arch
of Galerius,28 and we hear from Ammianus Marcellinus (24.6.17) that Julian sacrificed to Mars
in 363 CE before the Battle of Ctesiphon. The closing of temples in Rome under Theodosius
signaled the end of a long history of worship of Mars in Italy, but worship continued at some
provincial sites beyond this point — both the temples at Lydney Hill in Britain and Martberg
bei Pommern in Germany show evidence of continued usage to the late Roman period.29 In
all, Mars had a long history of prominence in Roman religion and owed a large part of his
popularity to the diversity of interpretation available in his role of protector. This role had
its roots in the mythical creation of Rome by Romulus, was re-emphasized by Augustus, and
was spread by the Roman army, but the widespread adoption of and patronage to Mars can
be best explained by the many diverse ways in which his role could be interpreted and fitted
into individual beliefs.

149

Tyler V. Franconi

1 Udo Scholz, Studien zum altitalischen und altromischen Marskult und Marsmythos (Heidelberg:
Bibliothek der klassischen Altertumswissenschaften, 1967); Georges Dumezil, La religion ro-
maine archaique (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974); Johan H. Croon, “Die Ideologic
des Marskultes unter dem Prinzipat und ihre Vorgeschichte,” Aufstieg und Niedergang des ro-
mischen Welt II 17, no. 1 (1981): 246-75.

2 Dumezil, La religion romaine archaique, 153.

3 Ibid., 205-45; Scholz, Marskult und Marsmythos, 63-77; Vincent J. Rosivach, “Mars, the Lustral
God,” Latomus 42, no. 3 (1983): 509-14.

4 CIL 6, 2104a.

5 Scholz, Marskult und Marsmythos, 18.

6 Rosivach, “Mars, the Lustral God.”

7 Paul Zanker, The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus, trans. Alan Shapiro (Ann Arbor: Uni-
versity of Michigan Press, 1990), 195.

8 Ibid., fig. 151.

9 CIL 3 suppl., 12467; Croon, “Die Ideologic des Marskultes,” 73; Robert O. Fink, Allen S. Hoey,
and Walter F. Snyder, “The Feriale Duranum’,’ Yale Classical Studies 7 (1940): 120.

10 Fink, Hoey, and Snyder, “Feriale DuranumL M. Barbara Reeves, “The Feriale Duranum, Roman
Military Religion, and Dura-Europos: A Reassessment” (PhD diss., SUNY Buffalo, 2004).

1 1 Oliver Stoll, “The Religions of the Armies,” in A Companion to the Roman Army, ed. Paul Erd-
kamp (Oxford: Blackwell, 2007), 451-76; Ian P. Haynes, “The Romanisation of Religion in the
Auxilia of the Roman Imperial Army from Augustus to Septimius Severus,” Britannia 24 (1993):
141-57.

12 Alan Rushworth, Housesteads Roman Fort: The Grandest Station (Swindon: English Heritage,
2009), 233.

13 R. Finke, “Neue Inschriften,” Berichte der romische-germanische Kommission 17 (1927): no. 200.

14 Victorine von Gonzenbach, “Ein Heiligtum im Legionslager Vindonissa,” Veroffentlichungen
der Gesellschaft Pro Vindonissa 10 (1976): 302-19; Andrew Lawrence, “Neue Forschungen zum
sog: Marsheiligtum im Zentrum des Legionslagers Vindonissa; Der Beitrag der Grabungen von
1972,” Jahresbericht Gesellschaft Pro Vindonissa (2009): 1-25.

15 Veronique Brouquier-Redde, Temples et Cultes de Tripolitaine (Paris: CNRS, 1992): 289; Rene
Rebuffat, “Divinites de l’oued Kebir (Tripolitaine),” FAfrica Romana 7, no. 1 (1990): 140.

16 CIL 13, 8019; CIL 03, 1 1889; CIL 03, 14370.

17 Emile Masqueray, “Ruines Anciennes de Khenchela (Mascula) a Besseriani (Ad Majores),” Revue
Africaine 22 (1878): 453.

18 Deo marti / genioque san/cto scolae b(ene)f(iciariorum) / paconius cas Hus b(ene)f(iciarius)
cons(ularis) / leg(ionis) iii aug(ustae) cum / suis exacta sta(tione) / v(otum) s(olvit). CIL 8, 10717.

19 [I(ovi)] o(ptimo) m(aximo) / [mjarti vie/ [tori] diis i[u]/vantibus [gejnioque sta/tionis vaza/nita-
nae / [3] saturni/nus ]b(ene)f(iciarius)] leg(ionis) iii / au[g(ustae) exjpleta / [sjtatione pr[o]/motus
ad [\(centurionatum?)] / leg(ionis) ii italicae / v(otum) s(olvit) l(ibens) a(nimo). CIL 8, 10718.

20 Von Gonzenbach, “Heiligtum,” 307-10; Lawrence, “Neue Forschungen,” 8-13.

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Provincial Cults of Mars in the Roman Empire

21 CIL 16, 81.

22 Ton Derks and Nico Roymans, eds., De Tempel van Empel: Een Hercules-heiligdom in het woonge-
bied van de Bataven (The Hague: Stichting Brabantse Regionale Geschiedbeoefening, 1994);
Johan Nicolay, The Armed Batavians: Use and Significance of Weaponry and Horse Gear from
Non-Military Contexts in the Rhine Delta (50 BCto AD 450) (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University
Press, 2007).

23 Tyler V. Franconi, “Mars across the Channel: Contextualizing Cult in the Roman Northwest,”
in Religion in the Roman Empire: The Dynamics of Individualisation, ed. Ralph Haussler et al.
(Oxford: Oxbow Books, forthcoming).

24 Croon, “Die Ideologic des Marskultes,” 269-73.

25 Ralph Haussler, “The Civitas Vangionum: A New Sacred Landscape at the Fringes of the Roman
Empire?,” in Continuity and Innovation in Religion in the Roman West, ed. Ralph Haussler and
Anthony C. King, 2 vols. (Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2008), 2:185-216.

26 Greg Woolf, Becoming Roman: The Origins of Provincial Civilization in Gaul (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1998).

27 Horn, Germania Inferior: CIL 13, 8707; Strasbourg, Germania Superior: CIL 13, 11605.

28 Margaret S. Pond Rothman, “The Thematic Organization of the Panel Reliefs on the Arch of
Galerius,” American Journal of Archaeology 81, no. 4 (1977): 427-54; Olivier Hekster, “The City
of Rome in Late Imperial Ideology: The Tetrarchs, Maxentius, and Constantine,” Mediterraneo
Antico 2 (1999): 717-48.

29 Martin Thoma, “Der gallo-romische Kultbezirk auf dem Martberg bei Pommern an der Mosel,
Kr. Cochem-Zell,” in Kelten, Germanen, Romer im Mittelgebirgsraum zwischen Luxemburg und
Thuringen, ed. Alfred Haffner and Siegmar von Schnurbein (Bonn: R. Habelt 2000): 472; P. John
Casey and Birgitta Hoffmann, “Excavations at the Roman Temple in Lydney Park, Gloucester-
shire in 1980 and 1981 Antiquaries Journal 79, no. 1 (1999): 115.

151

iiMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMii

The Fate of Serapis: A Paradigm for Transformations
in the Culture and Art of Late Roman Egypt

Ann M. Nicgorski

Egyptian interactions with the Greco-Roman world began as early as the third quarter of
the seventh century BCE when the pharaoh Psammetichus I opened the land to Greek
mercenaries, traders, and colonists (Hdt. 2.1 52-54). 1 Yet it was not until after the conquest
of Egypt by Alexander the Great in 332 BCE that Egypt was transformed into a much more
cosmopolitan and integral part of the Mediterranean world. After his death, Ptolemy I Soter,
one of Alexander’s generals, succeeded to power in Egypt (r. 323-283 BCE). He established
Greek as the official language and moved the capital to the newly founded city of Alexan-
dria. Although the rulers of the Ptolemaic dynasty generally supported traditional Egyptian
culture and religion, they also opened the land to broader Hellenistic influences. In 30 BCE,
Egypt officially became part of the Roman Empire, when Octavian defeated Mark Antony
and Cleopatra VII at the Battle of Actium. Greek language, culture, and art, however, con-
tinued to have a strong impact in Roman Egypt, and espe-
cially on the development of early Christianity in the late
Roman to early Byzantine era. A fascinating path into these
complex cultural dynamics is offered by the tale of the rise
and fall of the cult of the syncretistic god Serapis in Alex-
andria, who came to be regarded as a bringer of the annual
Nile flood and as a supplier of fertility and prosperity to the
land. In particular, the creation and transformation of the
image of the god himself, during the Ptolemaic and Roman
periods, reflects the traditions of both ancient Egyptian and
Greco-Roman art. Such hybrid and polysemous imagery, of-
ten referencing the key theme of abundance, also became a
characteristic expression of the heterogeneous culture of late
Roman Egypt, as clearly reflected in the sculpted reliefs and
textiles dating from the fourth to the sixth century CE that
are included in this exhibition.

The precise origin of the god Serapis remains uncertain,
but his name clearly derives from Apis, the sacred bull-god
of Memphis, and Osiris, the Egyptian god of the under-
world.2 As the hypostasis Oserapis or Osiris- Apis, this Egyp-

N 390.

10.1. Apis bull, from the Serapeum, Memphis, 30th
dynasty/378-341 BCE, limestone. Louvre, Paris,

153

Ann M. Nicgorski

10.2. Statuette of Serapis, Ostia, ist-2nd
century CE, marble. Museo Ostiense, 1125.

10.3. Triptych panel with Serapis, Romano-
Egyptian, c. 100 CE, tempera on wood panel,
j. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, 74.AP.2.

tian bull-deity may well have been encountered by Alexander in
the vicinity of Alexandria and worshipped as Serapis (fig. 10.1). 3
More certain is that Ptolemy I became a major proponent of the
cult of Serapis, perhaps to help unify the native Egyptian and
Greek populations.4 He was responsible for devising a new Hel-
lenized image of Serapis in fully human form, that of a bearded
male in the prime of his life, a hybrid image with rich syncre-
tistic associations particularly with Zeus, Asklepios, Helios,
and Hades. In Alexandria’s Serapeum, built during the time of
Ptolemy III (r. 246-222 BCE), there was a cult statue of Serapis
attributed to a sculptor named Bryaxis (by Clement of Alexan-
dria, Protr. 4.48.1-3). Generally Zeus-like in appearance, Serapis
was probably seated, wearing a Greek chiton and himation and
holding a scepter, with the three-headed Cerberus at his side,
similar to an example found at Ostia (fig. 10.2). Additionally, in
the Roman period, Serapis often had a bifurcate beard and five
distinct locks falling onto his forehead.5 Another typical aspect
of his iconography is the conical container, usually identified as a
kalathos or modius (grain measure) that crowns his head, as seen
in the remarkable painted icon of Serapis from Roman Egypt
(fig. 10. 3). 6

Serapis became the chief god of Alexandria in the Hellenis-
tic period, a supreme deity (like Zeus), a powerful god of heal-
ing (like Asklepios), and a god associated with the fertility of
the earth (like Helios), as well as the boundary between life and
death (like Hades).7 He was a new consort of the powerful Egyp-
tian mother goddess Isis, and the father of her son, Harpocrates
(previously Horus, son of Osiris). As such, he was a god of abun-
dance and renewed life, who also came to be worshipped as a
bringer of the annual Nile flood, which made the land prosper.
One of the gods most famous attributes was the ceremonial Nile
Cubit, a portable nilometer, which was housed in his temple (the
Serapeum) in Alexandria. The cult of Serapis, together with Isis
and Harpocrates, was extremely popular in Roman times and it
spread throughout the empire, where Serapis was regarded also
as an oracular god and a protector of travelers by sea, perhaps
because of his association with the great port of Alexandria.8 It is
probably because of this strong connection with the Hellenistic
city of Alexandria that Serapis never achieved the same degree of
popularity with the native Egyptians, who continued their devo-
tions to the ancient god Osiris, the true consort of Isis.9

Beginning in the Flavian period (69-96 CE), the god Serapis
was closely associated with the Roman imperial cult, as he had
been earlier in the development of the Ptolemaic ruler cult. As
a guarantor of power, he was one of the few deities who might
appear together with the image of the ruling emperor on widely
distributed imperial coinage (fig. 10. 4). 10 Therefore, when the
first Christian emperor, Constantine the Great, ordered the
transfer of the Nile Cubit from the Serapeum to an unnamed
Christian church in Alexandria (c. 325 CE), he sent a powerful
message severing the ancient ties with the god. The local popula-

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The Fate of Serapis: A Paradigm for Transformations in the Culture and Art of Late Roman Egypt

tion feared that disaster would ensue and that
the Nile waters would not rise, but the inun-
dation did in fact arrive and continued to take
place regularly thereafter (Socrates, Hist. Eccl.

1.18). 11 As Christianity became more estab-
lished in Egypt and in Alexandria, tensions
rose and ultimately violence erupted between
the worshippers of Serapis and the followers of
the new Christian religion. In 391 CE pagans
occupied the Serapeum in Alexandria, using
it as a stronghold to launch violent attacks
against Christians; they were incited to this
action by reports that Theophilus, Patriarch of Alexandria (353-412 CE), had desecrated
cultic objects in a pagan temple. In this same year, Emperor Theodosius I issued a decree
prohibiting sacrifices and visits to the pagan temples in Rome and Alexandria. Conse-
quently the Serapeum and its cult statue were destroyed.12 However, according to Sozomens
church history written around 440 CE (Hist. Eccl. 7.15):

It is said that when the temple was being demolished, some stones were
found, on which were hieroglyphic characters in the form of a cross [i.e.,
ankh signs] , which on being submitted to the inspection of the learned, were
interpreted as signifying the life to come. These characters led to the con-
version of several of the pagans. [...] It was thus that the Serapion was taken,
and, a little while after, converted into a church; it received the name of the
Emperor Arcadius.13

This episode is a wonderful example of a type of semantic progression that is typical in
the heterogeneous religious and cultural context of late Roman Egypt. The ankh, the ancient
Egyptian sign of life, inscribed on architectural elements from the Serapeum, was now rec-
ognized as a fluid, multivalent symbol of “the life to come,” understood and accepted by
diverse, and even opposing, cultural groups. The traditional ankh was then transformed
into the new crux ansata, a looped cross with a more circular (rather than tear-shaped)
head, which became a potent symbol of the early Christian Church in Egypt that repre-
sented Christs sacrifice and the promise of salvation while still testifying to the continuity
of ancient Egyptian tradition.14 The crux ansata appears as a central motif in many works
of early Christian art from Egypt, such as a fourth-century CE tapestry roundel included in
the exhibition (plate 151).

This transformation and continuity of tradition from the Hellenistic to the late Roman
and early Christian period is also apparent in one of the earliest known icons of Christ
from Sinai, dating to the first half of the sixth century CE (fig. 10.5), an image that clearly
derives its authority from its evocation of the “Zeus/Jupiter facial type,” which was shared
by the Greco-Roman Serapis (fig. 10.3). 15 The god Serapis (as Osiris- Apis) had originated in
the form of an Egyptian bull-deity and was re-imaged in the early Hellenistic period with
an idealized human form, evoking the visage of the most powerful male gods of the Greek
pantheon as a way to confer authority first on the Ptolemaic rulers who promoted his cult,
and then on the Roman emperors who followed. The face of Serapis, in particular, was a
very ancient and potent image, whose transformation into the authoritative, yet beneficent
face of Christ is another characteristic example of a semantic progression within the cos-
mopolitan context of late Roman Egypt. The polysemous nature of this shared facial type
is perhaps what led a late fourth-century author from Alexandria to assert satirically that

10.4. Billon tetradrachm of Vespasian with bust of Serapis, minted
in Alexandria, 70/71 CE. Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Dr.
Sidney Peerless, 2001.87.3627.

155

Ann M. Nicgorski

“those who worship Serapis are, in fact, Christians, and those who call themselves bishops
of Christ are, in fact, devotees of Serapis.”16

Associations with the god Serapis, his image, and particularly his face, were also an

important manifestation of Roman imperial ideology in Egypt
and throughout the empire. In ancient Egypt, the pharaoh was
a god, i.e., the living Horus, who was identified with Osiris
after death. Thus, when Alexander the Great conquered Egypt,
he too was acknowledged as a divinity, as were his successors.
Indeed, after Ptolemy II Philadelphus (r. 285-246 BCE) and his
sister- wife Arsinoe II instituted a cult for themselves, it became
the custom to regard the living Ptolemaic rulers, and then
the Roman emperors, as gods.17 Only a few of these divinely
regarded Roman emperors actually made visits to Egypt. The
reasons for these visits were usually political or military, but
often included religious or cultural expeditions. The most sig-
nificant examples are Vespasian’s trip in 69 CE, Hadrians visit
with Antinous in 130 CE, and Septimius Severuss yearlong
stay in 199-200 CE. Vespasian was in Judea in 69 CE when
the prefect of Egypt, Tiberius Julius Alexander, proclaimed
him emperor. Vespasian then went to Alexandria, where he
made a famous visit to the Serapeum after the god himself had
sent a blind man and a man with a withered hand to the new
emperor in order to be cured (Tac., Hist. 4.81-84; Suet., Vesp.
10.7). Vespasian’s command of the god’s healing power, as wit-
nessed by his successful execution of these miracles, was seen
as a confirmation of his own power and divinity. These events
coincided with a felicitous rising of the Nile, which also helped
to legitimize his personal auctoritas and right to rule as the one
favored by and intimately associated with Serapis, particularly
among Roman soldiers and sailors across the empire.18

By the time of Septimius Severuss yearlong sojourn in
Egypt, the cult of Serapis was widely practiced in Roman soci-
ety, from slaves and freedman to the emperors themselves.
Temples, objects with cultic images of Serapis, and inscriptions and literary texts from
throughout the empire also attest to the cult’s broad geographic diffusion, which was partly
due to the popularity of Serapis (and other Egyptian deities) among the sailors of the Roman
military and merchant fleets.19 It is not surprising, therefore, that Septimius Severus, a sol-
dier emperor from North Africa, was an enthusiastic devotee of the god (S.H.A., Sev. 17.3-
4). Indeed, his veneration for Serapis was so great that he modeled his own image after that
of the god, cultivating in his official portraiture the god’s typical bifurcate beard and curled
forehead locks.20 These features can be seen in the painted portrait of Septimius Severus
and his family from the Fayum (fig. 5.1), where they function as intentional signifiers of his
close association with Serapis, his personal heritage, auctoritas, maiestas, and right to rule,
as well as his own divine status and that of his dynastic heirs. The hybrid iconography and
semantic range of this remarkable imperial portrait reflects the complex, heterogeneous
identities and cultures of the Roman world at the beginning of the third century CE.

Identity and Iconography in Late Roman Egypt

The example of the syncretistic god Serapis and the multiple transformations and impacts
of his hybrid image is instructive as we now turn to consider the similarly hybrid and pol-

10.5. The Blessing Christ, icon from the Holy
Monastery of St. Catherine, Sinai, 500-550 CE,
encaustic on wood panel.

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The Fate of Serapis: A Paradigm for Transformations in the Culture and Art of Late Roman Egypt

ysemic iconography of the sculpted reliefs and textiles that are included in this exhibition.
Although we do not know the precise context of most of these fragmentary objects, it is
clear from their functions that they represent the civic and domestic realms and therefore
better reflect the texture of daily life. The textiles, in particular, are mostly from garments
that were worn in the home, in the communal space of the town or city, and ultimately in
the grave. The intimate association of these textiles with specific individuals renders them
unique and fascinating expressions of personal identities as negotiated within the very di-
verse and heterogeneous context of late Roman to early Byzantine Egypt. The most popular
motifs of these textiles, which reference the themes of fertility and abundance, seem to
intentionally focus on harmonious intersections among the various group identities, rather
than potentially divisive imagery that might incite conflict and iconoclasm. In considering
the significance of these diverse motifs, it will be important to keep in mind the words of
Evelyn B. Harrison, that “iconography is not a code, where one symbol has one meaning,
but a language, where the meaning of each word is affected by the context in which it ap-
pears, where meanings change as words do with time, and where the intensity of meaning
may vary from sharply emphatic to vague and colorless.”21

The Hybrid Styles and Iconography of Late Roman Art from Egypt

The art of late Roman or late antique to early Byzantine Egypt (c. 250 CE-700 CE) is often
referred to as “Coptic,” a term that has been used in the past to specifically denote the art of
Egyptian Christians.22 However, in the most recent scholarship, the term “Coptic” is avoid-
ed because most of the artworks, and especially the textiles, cannot be clearly associated
with a specific ethnic or religious group.23 The style of this late Egyptian art, in its earliest
forms, is increasingly conceptual and graphic, an organic part of general stylistic trends
seen in many other regions of the late Roman and early Byzantine Mediterranean.24 But
there is also a distinctive quality in its lucid simplification of form that conveys a vitality
unique to the visual arts of late antique Egypt. For example, this characteristic and spirited
style is readily apparent in a fragmentary textile band that features dancing figures with
expressive gestures in awkward combinations of frontal and profile views (plate 140). These
charming figures are surrounded by plant and animal forms that are similarly stylized, yet
they all still convey a very lively sense of movement and a strong engagement with the view-
er, which is further enhanced by the vibrant colors.

Late Egyptian art is also remarkable for the way in which disparate cultural forms and
iconography are blended and transformed into a richly varied, yet coherent style by assem-
bling motifs and symbols which, like the ancient face of Jupiter/Serapis/Christ, can be read
in diverse ways, and with varying intensities of meaning, by different viewers. These include
the Egyptian, Greek, and Roman, as well as the Persian, Syrian, Armenian, and Byzantine
styles and subjects that were introduced during this time as a result of trade (especially in
textiles) along the Silk Road that passed through Sasanian Persia and into Egypt. Popular
motifs include those that are clearly Greco -Roman in origin such as generic female busts
(e.g., Tyche as seen on a textile roundel, plate 2), personifications, warriors, and riders, as
well as other mythological subjects like centaurs and sea creatures, Nereids, and specific
figures like Leda, Hercules, Venus, or Bacchus and his retinue of dancing maenads. These
particular motifs seem to be chosen for a variety of reasons, but most often because of
their association with themes popular in many of these cultures — fertility and prosperity.
In some instances, however, these pagan subjects could also be assimilated to an explicitly
Christian theme, as in the case of the Bacchic grapevine that came to reference the wine
of the Eucharist. Yet other popular motifs are clearly Christian, as can be determined by
specific evidence, such as an inscription, or by contextual analysis. These motifs include
various crosses, but especially the crux ansata, scenes from biblical stories, angels, and both

157

Ann M. Nicgorski

standing and equestrian saints, who may be identified by characteristic sets of attributes.
Animal motifs also abound, including lions and leopards, stags and hares, fish and dol-
phins, as well as various birds. In some contexts, these motifs served as specific symbols,
such as the fish that represents Christ the Savior. Generally, however, these animal motifs
function as part of a hybrid ensemble with allegorical connotations of abundance, wealth,
and happiness.25 Such ensembles also included vegetal motifs with similar connotations of
the good and prosperous life, including acanthus, vines, fruits, flowers, and various trees.
Ornamental motifs, such as variations of the Greek key and interlace patterns, waves, and
stars, were also part of this artistic language. Such motifs were often retained from the rep-
ertoire of ancient Egyptian, Greek, and Roman art because they were believed to have the
power to prevent evil or to bring good luck.

Late Roman Relief Sculptures from Egypt

One of the primary mediums of late Egyptian art is relief sculpture, particularly funer-
ary stelae and elaborately carved architectural elements from tombs, houses, monasteries,
churches, and other public buildings. Unfortunately much of this late Egyptian relief sculp-
ture, found in museum collections throughout the world, is lacking archaeological informa-
tion about its precise architectural context, which makes interpretation difficult. Also prob-
lematic is the fragmentary state and poor condition of many pieces. Limestone reliefs like
those included in this exhibition originally featured the use of polychromy, and sometimes
inlay of colored glass or stone, which was integral to their style. Thus, the original visual
impact of these sculptures would have been more closely related to that of the contempo-
rary textiles that are also part of the exhibition. The carved reliefs would have been covered
with a thin layer of plaster as a sizing ground for the paint. The underlying relief sculpture
would have been transformed by this paint, which would have articulated the modeling of
forms, while providing more detail and adding dimension to the illusion of space.26 Two
distinct styles of late Egyptian sculpture are nevertheless identifiable. Early scholars thought
of these styles as consecutive: an earlier “‘soft’ style characterized by soft, plump forms, large
heads with wide eyes, stylized hair, and vivacious movements, and a [later] ‘hard’ style,
more stylized, disproportionate, and stiffer, with crisp contours and deep shadows.”27 More
recent studies, however, have shown that these styles evolved simultaneously.28

An example with aspects of both characteristic styles of late Egyptian sculpture is the
architectural relief fragment featuring a dove in a tangled grapevine (plate 149). 29 The
plump dove with its large eye as well as the rounded grapes are related to the so-called “soft”
style, while the surrounding curved band of interlaced vine motif is a bit more stylized,
with sharper edges that are deeply undercut. The image is a popular type, related to the
Bacchic iconography of the grape harvest, which finds its origin in Greco-Roman art. In
the heterogeneous cultural context of late antique Egypt, such oft-repeated imagery might
be read as simply decorative but could also evoke the general themes of abundance and
prosperity associated with the fertility of the land, watered by the Nile River. In either case,
this imagery would be appropriate in either a non- Christian or a Christian setting. In the
latter, such imagery might further suggest the lush setting of Paradise or, more specifically,
it might reference the dove of the Holy Spirit and the grapes for the wine of the Eucharist,
representing the sacrificial blood of Christ.30 Indeed, this relief is another wonderful exam-
ple of how the iconographic motifs of late Egyptian art are frequently polysemous, generally
focusing on the harmonious intersections among the various group identities, while exhib-
iting a semantic progression from the precisely symbolic via the generically meaningful to
the simply decorative.

Two other architectural relief fragments feature similar iconography consisting of vegetal
friezes inhabited by animals. Both depict wild animals in hunting scenes, a theme that cer-

158

The Fate of Serapis: A Paradigm for Transformations in the Culture and Art of Late Roman Egypt

tainly connotes the pleasures of the good life (plates 138-39).31 Another architectural relief
fragment depicts a band of acanthus, which seems more purely ornamental, although the
elegant interlaced chain of the leaves may also have had an apotropaic function (plate 145). 32

Late Roman Textiles from Egypt

The exceptionally dry conditions in Egypt have made possible the survival of many textiles,
large numbers of which were haphazardly excavated in the late nineteenth to early twen-
tieth century in cemeteries at Saqqara, Akhmim, Antinopolis, and Hawara. As these tex-
tiles were widely dispersed into museums and private collections around the world, much
information was lost about their precise archaeological contexts owing to a lack of proper
documentation. Dating of these textiles is therefore particularly challenging and it is usually
accomplished by identifying close stylistic affinities and iconographic parallels with other
textiles or works of art with more fixed dates. Scholarly consensus, however, is difficult to
achieve in this regard.33

Nevertheless, the earliest surviving textiles seem to date from the third century CE,
when the custom began of burying the dead in their used clothing (e.g., tunics and man-
tles), wrapped in other furnishing textiles (e.g., curtains and wall hangings).34 The most
common textile material was linen, usually left undyed, but sometimes bleached. Wool was
also used, as well as cotton (rarely) and silk, a status symbol in the early Byzantine period.
Many weaving techniques were used in late antique Egypt, but the most common was plain
cloth (tabby) with decorative tapestry weaving, made on a two-beam upright loom. Dec-
orative tapestry weaving was a highly manual process, involving “covering the [linen or
wool] warp with weft yarns [of dyed wool], color by color, motif by motif, as required by
the design.”35 Most late antique Egyptian textiles feature monochrome patterns in a dark
purplish color on a light ground. This purple dye was typically made from a combination
of blue and red (from indigo and madder) in imitation of the true murex purple (extracted
from certain Mediterranean sea snails) that was reserved for the emperor and senior offi-
cials.36 Its popularity was perhaps due to these imperial associations and the belief that it
brought good luck (plate 133). Textiles with bright blue, yellow, red, and green also appear
by the fourth century CE (plate 140), in part due to Persian influence, although these colors
are also used in contemporary mosaics.37

Most of the textiles in this exhibition are tunics or fragments from tunics, the princi-
pal Roman-style garment worn by nearly everyone in the eastern Mediterranean in the late
antique period. Tunics were woven essentially in one piece, with the work starting at the
sleeve end. The lengths, widths, sleeve styles, and adornments of tunics varied according to
the fashions of the time and the gender and status of the wearer. The tunics also display a
discrete set of ornaments including vertical bands running from the shoulders toward the
hemline ( clavi ), pairs of round or square panels on the shoulders and on the front and back of
the skirt ( orbiculi or tabulae), as well as other bands at the neck, sleeve, and hem.38 These tap-
estry-woven bands and panels feature a variety of images and patterns that are similar to those
found in the contemporary architectural sculpture. Unfortunately, it was formerly the prac-
tice for excavators (or looters) to cut out these decorated parts from the tunics or from other
textiles for easier display in private collections or museums (or for sale on the art market).39

The textiles included in this exhibition demonstrate the rich variety of motifs that were
common in late antique art, not only in Egypt, but also throughout the late Roman to early
Byzantine world. These motifs include geometric patterns and symbols, as well as vegetal
and figural designs. The most common geometric motif is the interlace, an elaborate pattern
associated with the popular Hercules and Solomon knots, which were thought to provide
protection and bring prosperity. A particularly interesting textile fragment features an eye-
shaped ornament filled with this interlace design, an inventive combination of motifs that is

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Ann M. Nicgorski

probably related to contemporary eye-shaped amulets intended to thwart the evil eye (plate
150). 40 Patterns with circles, squares, waves, and crosses are also common (plate 109). 41
In addition, pairs of crosses are often overlaid or interlaced to form an eight-pointed star,
which — like other apotropaic octagonal designs — may have been associated with fertility
and healthy childbirth. An example of this propitious eight-pointed star motif can be seen
on a textile fragment where it frames a central crux ansata (the distinctly Egyptian symbol
of Christianity) and is surrounded by interlaced vines (plate 151).42 This additive ensemble
of motifs drawn from different cultural backgrounds, each with its own semantic range,
is blended together here in a way that expresses the harmonious intersections among the
various group identities in late Roman Egypt, all centered around the shared theme of a
good life, free from harm, blessed with fertility and prosperity, in addition to the prom-
ise of a renewal of life after death. This particular ensemble of motifs is also an especially
good example of how iconography functions more like a language than a code, where the
meaning of each motif is altered by the context in which it appears, where meanings are
transformed over time, and where the intensity of meanings associated with specific motifs
may vary considerably depending on the audience.43

As we have already seen, grapevines are an especially popular and significant vegetal
motif, associated with Bacchus and later, in Christianity, with the Eucharistic wine and the
promise of everlasting life. Other common vegetal motifs include acanthus, trees and foli-
age, as well as various fruits and flowers. These are often presented in baskets, urns, scrolls,
garlands, or chains with stylized clasps, all of which convey the theme of abundance. A
wonderful example of this particular genre of characteristically hybrid vegetal iconography
is a textile band (plate 152) that features a stylized acanthus scroll inhabited by hares, birds,
and also pomegranates, a fruit with a multitude of blood-red seeds, which was a very old
and widespread symbol of fertility and rebirth throughout the ancient world.44 These dis-
parate motifs, originally common in different cultural contexts, are brought together in this
inventive ensemble with general connotations of fertility and prosperity. The especially res-
onant motif of the pomegranate, however, has a rich semantic range. For example, it might
also call to mind the Greco-Roman story of Persephone (Proserpina) who returned every
spring from the Underworld to regenerate the earth, while it could be read in a Christian
context as a specific symbol of the Resurrection.

Birds are also very frequently represented in late antique textiles from Egypt, often inhab-
iting the vegetal patterns, but also as independent motifs. These include: eagles; doves, par-
tridges, and other songbirds; ducks and other waterfowl; peacocks, quail, and roosters (plate
146). An excellent example in this exhibition is a square tapestry panel from a tunic that
features four eagles and eight ducks surrounding a central image that is now mostly missing
(plate 131). The eagle with spread pinions was a multivalent and widespread motif in the
Roman world, popular also on amulets and coins. Eagles (and particularly eagle claws) were
thought to have protective qualities, as they were closely associated with the omnipotent
Roman god Jupiter. The eagle ( aquila ) was also the symbol of the Roman army and crowning
element of the legionary standards. As such, the eagles semantic range extended to asso-
ciation with imperial triumph and apotheosis, which largely explains its continued use in
later Byzantine royal iconography. Eagles were also a common motif on late Egyptian grave
stelae, where their original signification appears to have been apotropaic, as evidenced by the
amulets that frequently appear encircling their necks. Such mortuary eagles may also convey
a hope for Christian resurrection when they appear, with crosses in their beaks, as part of
an ensemble of Christian motifs typically including, for example, the Greek letters alpha
and omega.45 Ducks too were a particularly significant and common motif of abundance,
because they represented an important source of food in the scarce winter months.46 Other
game animals like desert hares were popular textile motifs for this reason as well (plates 153—
54). 47 In ancient Egypt, hare amulets were commonly worn to assure fecundity or renewal,

160

The Fate of Serapis: A Paradigm for Transformations in the Culture and Art of Late Roman Egypt

so it is possible that the similar hares frequently depicted on late Egyptian clothing were also
thought to function like charms for assuring fertility and prosperity.

Many other land animals served as textile motifs including predatory felines, especially
lions (plates 40, 140, 183).48 Lions were certainly a powerful polysemic motif with many
possible associations, including the life-giving water that flowed from lion-headed spouts
throughout the Roman world, as well as the protection afforded by pairs of guardian lions
at city gates, or by the invulnerable hide of the Nemean Lion worn by the popular hero
Hercules. The lion also became the symbol of St. Mark the Evangelist, who was believed
to have brought Christianity to Egypt in the first century CE.49 In the context of the hunt,
however, the lion represented a test of courage, skill, and sheer strength, conveying heroism
and royalty, as well as wealth and status. This is probably the reason why the very popular
Greco-Roman subject of Hercules defeating the Nemean Lion continued to be represented
in late antique art well into the Christian era. A remarkable example of this subject is a
square tapestry panel from a tunic that also features two male and two female lions in the
four corners, perhaps alluding to the idea of fertility that was also associated with Hercules,
who was said to have fathered over 70 children (plate 40). 50

Other mythological figures and subjects also continue to be popular in this period, espe-
cially deities like Bacchus and Eros, as well as Nereids (plates 132 and 135) and centaurs.51
In the context of late Egyptian textile art, both the Nereids and the centaurs generally rep-
resent the untamed quality of the natural world. They are absorbed into the most popular
imagery associated with the revels of Bacchus and his followers, where they are frequently
surrounded by grapevines, often dancing in celebration of the good life, and sometimes
in the company of erotes or nude boys, dolphins, hares, or birds — all part of the typically
hybrid and polysemous imagery of fecundity and abundance (plate 142). 52

Conclusion

In the late antique Roman world, imagery of the good life was particularly associated with
Egypt and with the Nile River, as the age-old and ongoing source of fertility and wealth, as
is expressed, for example, by the mosaic floor from the Church of Saints Peter and Paul at
Gerasa, c. 540 CE, which features images of the Egyptian cities of Alexandria and Memphis
surrounded by date palms, the lush flora of the Nile, and an urn with flowing grapevines
(plate 3). Throughout the earlier Hellenistic and Roman periods, it was the syncretic Egyp-
tian god Serapis who had been most associated with assuring the life-giving Nile flood. He
was the guarantor of the consequent fertility, wealth, and power that derived from Egypt.
However, in the increasingly diverse late antique period, the once effective hybrid image of
Serapis, evoking the potent facial type of Jupiter, increasingly invited dissension and even
iconoclasm. Consequently, after the destruction in 392 CE of the Serapeum in Alexandria
and its famous cult image, the gods popularity faded, and his powerful face was absorbed
into the early iconic image of Christ. More importantly, as can be observed in the range of
objects included in this exhibition, the popular hybrid imagery of abundance and prosper-
ity continued to flourish, but within new and inventive ensembles that stressed the harmo-
nious intersections among the diverse cultural groups of the heterogeneous late Roman
to early Byzantine world. This complex world of overlapping identities included: men and
women; pagans, Christians, and Jews; Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans; as well as many
others, in Egypt and beyond, all of whom hoped to enjoy a good life, to escape evil and
capricious fate, to be blessed with fecundity and wealth, and to experience a renewal of life
and its abundant gifts after death.

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Ann M. Nicgorski

1 John Boardman, The Greeks Overseas: Their Early Colonies and Trade, rev. ed. (London: Thames
and Hudson, 1980), 114-15.

2 Serapis may also be spelled Sarapis. John E. Stambaugh, Sarapis under the Early Ptolemies
(Leiden: Brill, 1972), 5.

3 Ladislav Vidman, Isis und Sarapis bei den Griechen und Romern: Epigraphische Studien zur Ver-
breitung und zu den Tragern des agyptischen Kultes (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1970), 23-24; Robert
S. Bianchi, ed., Cleopatra’s Egypt: Age of the Ptolemies, exh. cat. (New York: Brooklyn Museum,
1988), 210.

4 Stambaugh, Sarapis under the Early Ptolemies, 6-13; Naphtab Lewis, Greeks in Ptolemaic Egypt
(Oxford: Clarendon, 1986), 69-70; Brunilde Sismondo Ridgway, Hellenistic Sculpture I: The
Styles of ca. 331-200 BC (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1990), 97; Gisele Clerc and
Jean Leclant, “Sarapis,” in Lexikon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae (LIMC) 7 (Zurich: Ar-
temis, 1994), 666.

5 The major studies of the iconography of Serapis are Wilhelm Hornbostel, Sarapis: Studien zur
Uberlieferungsgeschichte, den Erscheinungsformen und Wandlungen der Gestalt eines Gottes
(Leiden: Brill, 1973); V. Tran Tam Tinh, Serapis debout: Corpus des monuments de Serapis debout
et etude iconographique (Leiden: Brill, 1983); and Clerc and Leclant, “Sarapis,” 666-92. See also
Stambaugh, Sarapis under the Early Ptolemies, 14-26; J. ). Pollitt, Art in the Hellenistic Age (Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 279-80; Bianchi, Cleopatra’s Egypt, 210-11; Ridgway,
Hellenistic Sculpture, 95-97.

6 David L. Thompson, “A Painted Triptych from Roman Egypt,” /. Paul Getty Museum Journal 6/7
(1978/79): 185-92.

7 Stambaugh, Sarapis under the Early Ptolemies, 27-59 and 75-87; Hugh Bowden, Mystery Cults of
the Ancient World (London: Thames and Hudson, 2010), 161.

8 On the popularity of Egyptian cults throughout the Roman Empire, see Robert Turcan, The
Cults of the Roman Empire (Cambridge: Blackwell, 1996), 76-129; Mary Beard, John North, and
Simon Price, Religions of Rome, vol. 1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 264-66.

9 Bianchi, Cleopatra’s Egypt, 209-10.

10 Tinh, Serapis debout, 98-99; Clerc and Leclant, “Sarapis,” 686-87, 692.

1 1 Philip Schaff and Henry Wace, A Select Library ofNicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian
Church, 2nd ser., vol. 2 (New York: Christian Literature Company, 1890), 22; L. Kakosy, “Paganism
and Christianity in Egypt,” in Claremont Coptic Encyclopedia (1991), ed. Karen ). Torjesen and
Gawdat Gabra, http://ccdl.libraries.claremont.edu/cdm/ref/collection/cce/id/1500.

12 These events are carefully analyzed in a recent article by Johannes Hahn, “The Conversion of the
Cult Statues: The Destruction of the Serapeum 392 AD and the Transformation of Alexandria
into the ‘Christ-Loving’ City,” in From Temple to Church: Destruction and Renewal of Local Cultic
Topography in Late Antiquity, ed. Johannes Hahn, Stephen Emmel, and Ulrich Gotter (Leiden:
Brill, 2008), 335-65. See also Kakosy, “Paganism and Christianity in Egypt”; Laszlo Tdrdk, Trans-
figurations of Hellenism: Aspects of Late Antique Art in Egypt, AD 250-700 (Leiden: Brill, 2005),
90-91; and Livia Capponi, Roman Egypt (London: Bristol Classical Press, 2011), 57-58.

13 Schaff and Wace, Fathers of the Christian Church, 386.

162

14 See, e.g., the account of Rufinus, Historia Ecclesiastica 2.23 and 2.29, in which the small Serapis
busts in private houses throughout the city mysteriously disappeared and were replaced with

The Fate of Serapis: A Paradigm for Transformations in the Culture and Art of Late Roman Egypt

painted cruces ansatae. Emile Maher Ishaq, “Ankh,” in Claremont Coptic Encyclopedia, http://
ccdl.libraries.claremont.edu/cdm/ref/collection/cce/id/140; Euphrosyne Doxiadis, The Mysteri-
ous Fayum Portraits: Faces from Ancient Egypt (London: Thames and Hudson, 1995), 46; Torok,
Transfigurations of Hellenism, 17-19; Gawdat Gabra and Marianne Eaton-Krauss, The Treasures
of Coptic Art in the Coptic Museum and Churches of Old Cairo (Cairo: American University in
Cairo Press, 2006), 41.

15 Thomas F. Mathews, The Clash of the Gods: A Reinterpretation of Early Christian Art, rev. ed.
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), 183-86; Mathews, “Early Icons of the Holy Mon-
astery of Saint Catherine at Sinai,” in Holy Image, Hallowed Ground: Icons from Sinai, ed. Robert
S. Nelson and Kristen M. Collins, exh. cat. (Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 2006), 38, 51-52.

16 Vopiscus, Vita Saturnini 8.2 in Historia Augusta, vol. 3, trans. David Magie (Cambridge: Harvard
University Press, 1932); David Frankfurter, Religion in Roman Egypt: Assimilation and Resistance
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998), 284.

17 Doxiadis, Mysterious Fayum Portraits, 43-44; Heinz Heinen, “Roman Emperors in Egypt,” in Cla-
remont Coptic Encyclopedia, http :/ / ccdl. libraries. claremont. edu/ cdm / ref/ collection/ cceid / 1671.
Capponi, Roman Egypt, 28-36.

18 Sarolta A. Takacs, Isis and Sarapis in the Roman World (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 94-98; Barbara
Levick, Vespasian (New York: Routledge, 2005), 68-69.

19 This evidence is collected and analyzed by Takacs, Isis and Sarapis. See also Turcan, Cults of the
Roman Empire, 76-129; Mladen Tomorad, “Egyptian Cults of Isis and Serapis in Roman Fleets,”
in L’acqua nell’antico Egitto: Vita, rigenerazione, incantesimo, medicamento, ed. Alessia Amenta,
Maria Michela Luiselli, and Maria Novella Sordi (Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 2005), 241-53.

20 Septimius Severus probably first encountered Serapis at his temple by the port in the emperors
hometown of Lepcis Magna. Anthony R. Birley, Septimius Severus: The African Emperor (New
York: Routledge, 1988), 35, 135, 138, 200; Heinen, “Roman Emperors in Egypt.” On the portrait
type, see Anna Marguerite McCann, The Portraits of Septimius Severus, AD 193-211 (Rome:
American Academy in Rome, 1968); Takacs, Isis and Sarapis, 114-16.

21 Evelyn B. Harrison, “Greek Sculpted Coiffures and Ritual Haircuts,” in Early Greek Cult Practice:
Proceedings of the 5th International Symposium at the Swedish Institute at Athens, 26-29 June,
1986, ed. Robin Hagg, Nanno Marinatos, and Gullog C. Nordquist (Stockholm: Astrdms, 1988),
247.

22 The term “Coptic” derives from the pharaonic name for the city of Memphis (the house of the
Ka of Ptah) via the ancient Greek name for Egypt, Aegyptos, which was abbreviated in Arabic
as qibt. This was the word used by the Arab conquerors of Egypt after 641 CE to refer to the
entire non-Muslim population, which at that time was mostly Christian. Thus, the word “Copt”
has come to denote Egyptian Christians, while the adjective “Coptic” may be used to describe
various historical and contemporary manifestations of their culture, such as language and visual
art. Lucy- Anne Hunt et al., “Coptic Art,” in The Dictionary of Art, vol. 7 (New York: Macmillan,
1996), 818; Laszlo Torok, After the Pharaohs: Treasures of Coptic Art from Egyptian Collections,
Museum of Fine Arts, Budapest, 18 March-18 May, 2005, exh. cat. (Budapest: Museum of Fine
Arts, 2005), 11-12; Torok, Transfigurations of Hellenism, xxvi-xxvii.

23 Torok, After the Pharaohs, 11-12; Tdrok, Transfigurations of Hellenism, xxv-xxvii; Gabra and
Eaton-Krauss, Treasures of Coptic Art, xiii.

24 Earlier scholarship often described “Coptic” art as a separate phenomenon from late Roman

163

Ann M. Nicgorski

art, as an essentially decadent artistic tradition, exhibiting the decline of Hellenistic style, or as a
form of folk art. See for example, John Beckwith, Coptic Sculpture, 300-1300 (London: Tiranti,
1963), 5-6, 32-33; Klaus Wessel, Coptic Art (London: Thames and Hudson, 1965), 79-83; Pierre
du Bourguet, The Art of the Copts, trans. Caryll Hay-Shaw (New York: Crown, 1971), 20-21.
More recent scholarship, however, has stressed the connections between late Egyptian art and
stylistic trends elsewhere in the Roman world. Hunt et al., “Coptic Art,” 819; Torok, After the
Pharaohs, 12-17; Tordk, Transfigurations of Hellenism, 9-50.

25 Mina Moraitou, “Animal Motifs,” in Byzantium and Islam: Age of Transition (7th -9th Century), ed.
Helen C. Evans and Bran die Ratliff, exh. cat. (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2012),
172.

26 Thelma K. Thomas, “An Introduction to the Sculpture of Late Roman and Early Byzantine
Egypt,” in Beyond the Pharaohs: Egypt and the Copts in the 2nd to 7th Centuries AD, ed. Florence D.
Friedman, exh. cat. (Providence: Museum of Art, Rhode Island School of Design, 1989), 56-59.

27 Gabra and Eaton-Krauss, Treasures of Coptic Art, 10. See, e.g., Ernst Kitzinger, “Notes on Early
Coptic Sculpture,” Archaeologia 87 (1938): 183-93; Beckwith, Coptic Sculpture, 20-21; Alexan-
der Badawy, Coptic Art and Archaeology: The Art of the Christian Egyptians from the Late Antique
to the Middle Ages (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1978), 142-43; Hunt et al., “Coptic Art,” 821.

28 Tdrdk, Transfigurations of Hellenism, 32.

29 Gerry D. Scott III, Ancient Egyptian Art at Yale (New Haven: Yale University Art Gallery, 1986),
197, no. 150; Eunice Dauterman Maguire et al., Art and Holy Powers in the Early Christian House,
exh. cat. (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1989), 23-24. For similar examples of reliefs with
doves and other birds with fruit or in vine scrolls, from the South Church at Bawit, see Emile
Gaston Chassinat, Fouilles a Baouit, vol. 1 (Cairo: Imprimerie de l’lnstitut fran^ais d’archeologie
orientale, 1911), plates 26-31.

30 Friedman, Beyond the Pharaohs, 259; Maguire et al., Art and Holy Powers, 9-13; Torok, After the
Pharaohs, 110-11, no. 54; Gabra and Eaton-Krauss, Treasures of Coptic Art, 146-49, no. 92.

31 Scott, Ancient Egyptian Art, 179, no. 101; 197, no. 151; Torok, After the Pharaohs, 105, 181. For
similar reliefs, see John D. Cooney, Late Egyptian and Coptic Art: An Introduction to the Collec-
tions in the Brooklyn Museum (New York: Brooklyn Museum, 1943), 18, plate 21; Badawy, Coptic
Art and Archaeology, 184-85, figs. 3.127-29; Von Falck et al., Agypten, Schatze aus dem Wilsten-
sand, 88-89, no. 23; Gabra and Eaton-Krauss, Treasures of Coptic Art, 140-41, no. 87; 191, no.
124.

32 Maguire et al., Art and Holy Powers, 3-4. This fragment is remarkably similar to the narrow ex-
terior frieze from the South Church of the Monastery of St. Apollo, Bawit, which is now thought
to date to the seventh century CE. Chassinat, Fouilles a Baouit, plates 41-43, 74; Jean Cledat, Le
monastere et la necropole de Baouit (Cairo: Imprimerie de l’lnstitut fran^ais d’archeologie orien-
tale, 1999), 226, fig. 228; Badawy, Coptic Art and Archaeology, 118, figs. 3.2-3, and 179, fig. 3.115;
Gabra and Eaton-Krauss, Treasures of Coptic Art, 90-91, no. 60. For similar friezes from other
sites, see Badawy, Coptic Art and Archaeology, 169, fig. 3.99; Chrysi Kotsifou, “Sacred Spaces,” in
Coptic Art Revealed, ed. Nadja Tomoum et al., exh. cat. (Cairo: Supreme Council of Antiquities,
2010), 111-13, fig. 70.

33 Nancy Arthur Hoskins, The Coptic Tapestry Albums and the Archaeologist of Antinoe, Albert
Gayet (Seattle: Skein/University of Washington Press, 2004), 25; Kathrin Colburn, “Materials
and Techniques of Late Antique and Early Islamic Textiles Found in Egypt,” in Byzantium and

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The Fate of Serapis: A Paradigm for Transformations in the Culture and Art of Late Roman Egypt

Islam, 161.

34 Anna Gonosova, “Textiles,” in Beyond the Pharaohs, 65; Marie-Helene Rutschowscaya, Coptic
Fabrics (Paris: Biro, 1990), 14-16; Angela Vdlker, “Late Antique and Early Islamic Textiles,” in
Fragile Remnants: Egyptian Textiles of Late Antiquity and Early Islam, ed. Peter Noever, exh. cat.
(Ostfildern: Hatje Cantz, 2005), 9-11. For examples of this funerary practice from a secure exca-
vated context, see Beatrice Huber, “The Funerary Beds from the Monastic Cemetery at el-Ghali-
da (el-Kom Ahmar/Saruna),” in Clothing the House: Furnishing Textiles of the 1st Millennium AD
from Egypt and Neighbouring Countries; Proceedings of the 5th Conference of the Research Group
“Textiles from the Nile,” Antwerp, 6-7 October 2007 (Tielt: Lannoo, 2009), 56-72.

35 Gonosova, “Textiles,” 67. For detailed discussions of weaving techniques, see Alisa Baginsky and
Amalia Tidhar, Textiles from Egypt, 4th- 13th Centuries CE (Jerusalem: L. A. Mayer Memorial In-
stitute for Islamic Art, 1980), 19-33; Diane Lee Carroll, Looms and Textiles of the Copts: First Mil-
lennium Egyptian Textiles in the Carl Austin Rietz Collection of the California Academy of Sciences
(San Francisco: California Academy of Sciences, 1988), 29-44; Rutschowscaya, Coptic Fabrics,
24-32; Eunice Dauterman Maguire et al., The Rich Life and the Dance: Weavings from Roman,
Byzantine and Islamic Egypt, exh. cat. (Champaign: University of Illinois, 1999), 14-17; Hoskins,
Coptic Tapestry Albums, 26-48; Vdlker, “Late Antique and Early Islamic Textiles,” 15-18.

36 Jan Wouters, “Red and Purple Dyes in Roman and ‘Coptic’ Egypt,” in Clothing the House, 182-
85.

37 Rutschowscaya, Coptic Fabrics, 26-29; Maguire et al.. Rich Life and the Dance, 15; Regina
Hofmann-de Keijzer, “Dyestuffs in Coptic Textiles,” in Fragile Remnants, 29 and 31; Torok, After
the Pharaohs, 78-79.

38 Ludmila Kybalova, Coptic Textiles (London: Hamlyn, 1967), 34-36; Baginsky and Tidhar, Textiles
from Egypt, 10-13; Gonosova, “Textiles,” 68-69; Rutschowscaya, Coptic Fabrics, 48-54; Maguire
et al., Rich Life and the Dance, 10-13; Hoskins, Coptic Tapestry Albums, 48-50; Volker, “Late
Antique and Early Islamic Textiles,” 13-17; Cacilia Fluck, “Dress Styles from Syria to Libya,” in
Byzantium and Islam, 160-61.

39 Carroll, Looms and Textiles of the Copts, 3-4; Hunt et al., “Coptic Art,” 826; Vdlker, “Late Antique
and Early Islamic Textiles,” 11. See, e.g., the “Coptic” tapestry albums of the archaeologist of
Antinoe, Albert Gayet, now housed at the Henry Art Gallery at the University of Washington,
which were studied and published by Nancy Arthur Hoskins in 2004.

40 For similar eye-shaped ornaments with interlace, see Pierre du Bourguet, Musee national du
Louvre: Catalogue des etojfes coptes, I (Paris: Editions des Musees Nationaux, 1964), 80, 110;
Rutschowscaya, Coptic Fabrics, 24; Maguire et al., Rich Life and the Dance, 56-57, no. A13; No-
ever, Fragile Remnants, 154-55, no. 91. On interlace patterns and knot motifs, see James Trilling,
The Roman Heritage: Textiles from Egypt and the Eastern Mediterranean 300 to 600 AD, exh. cat.
(Washington, DC: The Textile Museum, 1982), 104-8; Maguire et al., Rich Life and the Dance, 36;
Maguire et al.. Art and Holy Powers, 3-4. For an example of an eye-shaped amulet, see Maguire
et al., Art and Holy Powers, 217, no. 136.

41 The small scale of this fragment suggests that it is probably from the leg axis of a tunic. Cf. Magu-
ire et al.. Rich Life and the Dance, 76, no. A32. On cross motifs in domestic contexts, see Maguire
et al., Art and Holy Powers, 18-22.

42 On the significance of octagonal designs and the eight-pointed star as a protective symbol, see
Maguire et al., Art and Holy Powers, 9; Torok, After the Pharaohs, 84. For several examples of

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Ann M. Nicgorski

eight-pointed star motifs, see Von Falck et al., Agypten, Schatze aus dem Wiistensand, 335-36,
nos. 384a-e.

43 Harrison, “Greek Sculpted Coiffures,” 247.

44 Friedman, Beyond the Pharaohs, 271, no. 185. For a similarly stylized acanthus scroll, see British
Museum E21789. Badawy, Coptic Art and Archaeology, 293, no. 4.72. Also, Cooney, Late Egyp-
tian and Coptic Art, 22, plate 44; M. Mate and K. Ljapunova, Khudozhestvennye tkani Koptskojo
Egipta (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1951), 154-56, nos. 212-lb, 279-80, plate 42; Kybalova, Coptic Tex-
tiles, 86, no. 36; Lila Marangou, Coptic Textiles (Athens: Benaki Museum, 1971), 12.

45 Elisabetta Lucchesi-Palli, “Eagle,” in “Symbols in Coptic Art,” in Claremont Coptic Encyclopedia,
http://ccdl.libraries.claremont.edu/cdm/ref/collection/cce/id/1791. See also Badawy, Coptic Art
and Archaeology, 302; Carroll, Looms and Textiles of the Copts, 1 14-15; Von Falck et al., Agypten,
Schatze aus dem Wiistensand, 299-300; Noever, Fragile Remnants, 138; Tdrok, After the Pha-
raohs, 161; Gabra and Eaton-Krauss, Treasures of Coptic Art, 183. For some examples of grave
stelae with eagle motifs, see Dominique Benazeth and Marie-Helene Rutschowscaya, eds., Tart
copte en Egypte: 2000 ans de christianisme, exh. cat. (Paris: Gallimard, 2000), 134-35, nos. 118,
120-21, plate 27.

46 Maguire et al., Art and Holy Powers, 10.

47 Friedman, Beyond the Pharaohs, 270, no. 184. For some close parallels, see Mate and Ljapunova,
Khudozhestvennye tkani Koptskojo Egipta, 112-13, nos. 88-90, plate 27. See also Maguire et al.,
Art and Holy Powers, 11.

48 A similar tunic is in the Louvre, 5940. Rutschowscaya, Coptic Fabrics, 14-15.

49 Carroll, Looms and Textiles of the Copts, 100; Maguire et al., Rich Life and the Dance, 39.

50 Hercules wrestles the Nemean Lion on textile fragments in the Benaki Museum (Marangou,
Coptic Textiles, 8) and in the Kunstmuseum in Diisseldorf, 13062 (Von Falck et al., Agypten,
Schatze aus dem Wiistensand, 309-10, no. 351). Hercules is also shown with the lion on a tex-
tile fragment from the Coptic Museum in Cairo, 7689 (Rutschowscaya, Coptic Fabrics, 96). A
tapestry square in the Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg, 11337, represents all 12 labors of
Hercules surrounding a central image of Bacchus and Ariadne. See Mate and Ljapunova, Khu-
dozhestvennye tkani Koptskojo Egipta, 98-99, no. 35, plate 18; Benazeth and Rutschowscaya, Tart
copte en Egypte, 157, no. 149.

51 Scott, Ancient Egyptian Art, 180-81, no. 104. Nereids were popular motifs, evoking the fecundity
of the Nile and of the sea. For a good discussion of this imagery, see Maguire et al., Rich Life and
the Dance, 133-34. A close parallel for the square tapestry panels of the child’s tunic (plate 135)
with central Nereid, Pyrrhic dancers, and hares, may also be seen on page 153, no. Cl 1.

52 See Christine Kondoleon, “The Gerasa Mosaics of Yale: Intentionality and Design,” in this vol-
ume.

166

iiMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMii

Dacian Riders: Transcultural Expressions of Religious
Identity in Roman Dacia in the Midst of War

Alvaro Ibarra

Rome had a long and tempestuous relationship with Dacia, with conflicts noted from as
early as the first century BCE. Located across the Danube in present-day Romania (see map,
p. v), the heart of the kingdom of Dacia was protected by the Carpathian Mountains, a geo-
graphical feature that limits invasion routes. In addition, the exceptional leadership of two
Dacian kings, Burebista and Decebalus, made expeditions into the Transylvanian Plateau
a difficult endeavor for the Romans. This became apparent when the emperor Domitian
failed to conquer Dacia in a war that lasted from 86 to 88 CE. Subsequently, Trajan managed
to defeat the Dacians over the course of two major military campaigns, from 101-102 and
105-106. The Romans occupied Dacia from 106 until the Aurelian withdrawal of 271.

The art of the Dacian occupation has perplexed scholars due to its hybridized nature.
This is especially problematic in visual analysis because the Dacians did not have a native
style that relied on illusionistic or figural representation. By comparison, the Greco-Roman
tradition is overwhelmingly reliant on figuration. The emergence of figural art in the after-
math of Trajan’s conquest seems to imply either that a new group of people took over Dacia
or that the Dacians wholeheartedly adopted Roman culture. I suggest that the art produced
during the Roman occupation of Dacia is not a product of hybridity, as this usually implies
the equal or democratic conflation of two cultures. Instead, I believe that the occupation art
is the result of a complex process of syncretic choices made by both natives and newcomers,
choices that actually often pre-date the Roman conquest. I will examine the effect of syn-
cretism in the religious imagery of occupation-era stelae in central Dacia, iconography that
is oftentimes necessarily inclusive rather than dangerously exclusive in a war- torn country.

In order to begin, there are four significant corrections in interpretation that schol-
ars must make if we hope to better understand the material culture of Dacia during the
Roman occupation: 1) There was neither a Dacian genocide nor a mass exodus in 106; 2)
The Dacians continued fighting with some effectiveness from 106 to 271; 3) The monothe-
istic Dacian cult of Zalmoxis was an aniconic mystery religion; and 4) Followers of Zal-
moxis neither persecuted non-believers nor did they discourage their expressions of faith,
whether these beliefs were native or foreign.

The first corrective is to challenge the belief that all post- 106 material production is
Roman. Needless to say, the characteristics of these recovered archaeological remains bear
little to no resemblance to art from the capital — the most centralized manifestation of

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Alvaro Ibarra

Roman art. After all, we are dealing with art from the provinces, artifacts that are made
by people who are only marginally Roman. The people that settled Dacia in the aftermath
of the Trajanic Dacian Wars were themselves provincial Romans. Legions with a post-war
presence in Dacia came from Germania, Rhaetia, Noricum, Pannonia, and Moesia, those
with individuals most likely to settle in Dacia after their tour of duty.1 These pioneers of
mixed backgrounds would further complicate their identities by settling in communities
populated by fellow provincial Romans and native Dacians. In such places, individuals
shared ideas about aesthetics and religion among many other things. Proof of multicultural
exchange can be found in architectural remains, prevailing types of pottery, and funerary
monuments left behind in occupation-era settlements.

As products of a syncretic process, funerary markers can be especially multivalent. They
must function within a community that professes varied religious beliefs, both polytheistic
and monotheistic. In particular, the monotheistic Dacian cult of Zalmoxis would have been
difficult to integrate for stela artists working with non-Dacian iconography. Nevertheless,
I believe that the Dacians who continued to worship Zalmoxis in Dacia expressed their
piety through the appropriation of foreign signs and symbols. Specifically, I interpret the
so-called Thracian Rider type (plate 16) when it appears on Dacian monuments as a mani-
festation of the triumphant, resurrected Zalmoxis.

The Terra Deserta Theory

When discussing the post-war Dacian population, some scholars support the terra deserta
theory — the belief that the Romans forced the Dacians out of their homeland.2 Cassius Dios
account states that Dacian survivors were either conscripted or sent back to Rome to partic-
ipate in triumphal games and to be sold as slaves.3 Additionally, the fourth-century writer
Eutropius relates that Trajan introduced masses of people for the purpose of repopulating
the conquered territory, implying the eradication of the indigenous peoples.4 Both texts
appear on the surface to support the terra deserta theory. However, neither historian offers
quantifiable data to suggest any kind of demographic shift in the population.

Lino Rossi is the most persistent believer in a forced Dacian exodus. He supports his view
of a purely Roman Dacia by referencing the ancient texts and also through his interpreta-
tion of the final scenes on the Column of Trajan depicting the Dacians on carts and on foot
moving to the right.5 However, these depictions do not necessarily indicate a Dacian exodus,
and therefore should not be seen as evidence of a Dacian forced migration. The scene is not
a Roman topos communicating forced migration. Rather, it is a unique and historically spe-
cific representation. Dan Ruscu presents the most compelling challenge to this traditional
view by positing an alternative reading of the texts of Dio and Eutropius. He proposes that
the Dacians moved their population around the region for the tactical purpose of denying
the Roman army large military and/or civilian targets.6 Alexandru Diaconescu suggests that
the unification of the Dacian state replaced ancient tribal communities with territorial units,
producing the mysterious absence of Romanized Dacian aristocrats for Romans to exploit.7
I believe these theories are more likely accurate than wide-scale genocide.8

Archaeological Evidence in Post-War Dacia

Archaeology lends support to these recent views, as a comparison of pre-war and post-war
material remains in Dacia shows a continued and substantial native presence in the post-war
period in the persistence of native pottery and Dacian-style structures found throughout
central Dacia. It also suggests a continued and active resistance to Roman culture by Da-
cians, challenging the typical scholarly expectation for Romanization of a province and its
people. Some archaeological evidence may even suggest the Roman colonists adopted and

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Dacian Riders: Transcultural Expressions of Religious Identity in Roman Dacia in the Midst of War

adapted forms of Dacian material culture in a strategic rejection of the opportunity to re-
main Roman (such as the adoption of timber construction and native pottery).

Archaeological evidence throughout Romania varies dramatically in scope and quality.

Many of the most recently published studies rely on field surveying techniques, excavation
being an expensive and time-consuming process. Nevertheless, the compiled evidence of
known Roman and Dacian post-war settlements presents a complex picture that belies
any claim of absolute Roman dominance. The skewed picture that favored Romanization
emerged from scholars’ use of Roman categories such as colonia, municipia, vici, and villa,
inevitably interpreting nearly all settlements as Roman. The identification of Roman rural
or urban communities largely relied on the presence of Roman fineware, stone and mortar
construction, bricks, tile, and other Roman material remains. Communities that did not fit
the Roman mold were often omitted from studies and labeled as anomalies not worthy of
consideration.9

The presence of Dacian material remains at these sites was not taken into account.10 For
example, at numerous vici in central Dacia one finds Roman-style rectilinear structures next
to Dacian-style sunken dwellings. Additionally, the presence of Roman terra sigillata, local
replica copies of terra sigillata, and Dacian coarseware pottery is common.11 Recent archae-
ological investigation of small villages in southern Oltenia and southwestern Transylvania
even reveal communities that existed undisturbed (without any evidence of Roman presence
or contact) from the pre-Roman times through the post-conquest provincial era.12

The only sites possessing perceivable and even overt efforts toward Romanization are
the colonia of Sarmizegetusa Regia Ulpia Traiana and the municipia of Apulum and Porolis-
sum. In western Dacia, the colony of Ulpia Traiana replaced the former native capital. The
Romans razed most of the native structures and replaced them with traditional and symbolic
Roman buildings like a forum, an amphitheater, and a possible basilica. Trajan intended his
colony to be the shining beacon of Roman presence in Dacia.13 Ultimately, Ulpia Traiana
was the only location where members of the population could behave entirely like Romans.

Even Apulum and Porolissum were incomplete versions of proper Roman cities, as they were
originally and remained primarily the garrisons for the Roman legions in Dacia.

The settlements in the rest of Roman Dacia continued to have a diverse character through-
out the occupation. The biggest identifiable difference is an increased population and urban-
ization made possible through the additional roads built and policed by the Roman army.

The people in these newer Roman-era settlements showed a willingness to sustain hybrid
communities. Beyond an apparent acceptance of Dacian material production, the immi-
grant population did not find it necessary to remain Roman and may have embraced more
than just timber construction and cookware. Tikewise, the native Dacians may have appro-
priated some foreign ideas, like figural representation and a taste for terra sigillata. However,
while some Dacians settled into mixed communities in the post-war era, others chose to
continue fighting Rome.

The Dacian Resistance

Decebalus’s decision to fight Rome using traditional tactics ended in disaster for the natives
at the Battle of Tapae and at the siege of Sarmizegetusa Regia.14 By 106, the surviving rebels
learned that they could not defeat Rome in a traditional battlefield conflict. The archaeolog-
ical record following the Dacian Wars suggests that their response was to change strategy.

As the rebels used tactics akin to guerrilla warfare, the Roman military strategy altered ac-
cordingly.

In contrast to Trajan’s expansionist agenda, his successor Hadrian looked to consolidate
the Roman Empire. The emperor built numerous defense works around the Transylvanian
Plateau to aid in the conflicts against the free Dacians. After 118 CE, Hadrian abandoned

169

Alvaro Ibarra

Trajanic forts in southern Banat and western Wallachia, shifting these forces to the Transyl-
vanian Plateau in an effort to protect newly acquired gold and silver mines in the western
Carpathians.15 Two major garrisons at Apulum and Porolissum policed the western side of
Dacia Superior, while additional fortifications along the Upper Olt extended Romes mili-
tary presence eastward.

Five forts along the Upper Olt were designed to defend the Transylvanian Plateau

from an enemy embedded in the
Carpathians (fig. 11.1). I posit
that the free Dacians living in
the southeastern and eastern
Carpathians fought an increasingly
successful guerrilla war against the
Romans during the reign of Hadrian.
The threat was significant enough
to focus resources on an enemy
increasingly relying on innovative
and clandestine operations carried
out in difficult terrain within the
empire. My recent analysis of
the positioning of the Hadrianic,
Antonine, and Severan camps along
the Upper Olt provides compelling
evidence of this change in strategies,
both Roman and Dacian. In brief,
the line of Roman marching camps
along the Upper Olt River represents an archaeologically and chronologically verifiable
effort to exert influence on the southern and eastern edges of the Transylvanian Plateau.
Rome shifted its focus from pushing eastward through the plains of Wallachia to the south
to securing mountain passes in southeastern Transylvania, from fighting set-piece battles to
smaller operations focused on patrolling access points.

At the westernmost edge, Caput Stenarum dates to Trajan’s Dacian Wars. Its purpose
is clear: to provide a stopgap at one of the few passes giving access to the Transylvanian
Plateau. The cumulative viewshed for each camp (the visibility of the surrounding land-
scape) indicates that the objective for soldiers at Caput Stenarum was to police three major
access points. The viewshed is dramatically different at Feldioara and Cin§or. Both camps
are poised to defend against a threat from the south along the Olt River, across the wide
plains that front the Carpathian Mountains. These two castra date to the reign of Hadrian
and represent a posture anticipating open war — an open war that never occurred. The later
camps near Hoghiz and Homorod further east were poised to defend the Transylvanian
Plateau from an enemy embedded in the Carpathians — the Dacian rebels that had aban-
doned traditional tactics in favor of guerrilla warfare.

Ultimately, this data suggests that settlers from central Dacia to the easternmost extremes
of the Transylvanian Plateau lived in a more turbulent region than previously proposed, one
in which being overtly Dacian or Roman both ran risks. But religious neglect ran an even
greater risk, especially for ancient cultures with strong traditions of ancestor worship. How
would patrons desiring to express their religious beliefs through funerary architecture avoid
endangering themselves in such a complex and threatening context? More specifically, how
could followers of Zalmoxis continue worshipping their god in such a dramatically shifting
cultural landscape? In order to posit an answer, we must briefly examine the Dacian cult of
Zalmoxis.

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Dacian Riders: Transcultural Expressions of Religious Identity in Roman Dacia in the Midst of War

The Cult of Zalmoxis and Dacian Material Culture

Although this venue is not the place to tread over well-published studies on Dacian religion,
it is nevertheless useful to reiterate that we know little of Dacian religious beliefs and in par-
ticular Zalmoxian practices.16 Our two most significant primary sources are Herodotus and
Strabo. These historians’ differing accounts allow us to decipher some of the changes that
occurred, although their texts are colored by their respective Greek and Roman views and
agendas. Neither relates any significant Dacian religion prior to Zalmoxis, save for a vague
reference to the vulgar superstitions of barbarians. This suggests that Herodotus and Strabo
judged Zalmoxian worship as superior to its antecedents.

Herodotus’s description of the origins of Zalmoxis and his teachings suggests that it
was a mystery cult that arrived in Dacia in the early fifth century BCE. Like many other
mystery cults, that of Zalmoxis featured a charismatic leader that provided mystical revela-
tions to followers. Initiates could also expect an idyllic afterlife. Supposedly, Zalmoxis was a
Dacian who had achieved enlightenment after studying great mysteries in Egypt as a slave
of Pythagoras. He returned to his homeland in order to teach his people a more enlight-
ened path. According to Herodotus, Zalmoxis built a banqueting hall or andreon under the
sacred mountain of Kogaionon where he imparted his knowledge to his followers during
communal meals or banquets.17 The cults of Mithras, Isis, and Christ (among others) also
featured ritualistic meals as part of their practice and worship.

Zalmoxis departed from his new congregation to an otherworldly place in order to
achieve some undisclosed goal. His departure is likened to death, even though Herodotus
tells us that Zalmoxis merely retired to an underground chamber. After three years in this
“underworld,” Zalmoxis triumphantly returned as proof of life after death.18 Zalmoxis may
not have been a messianic figure at first, but the Dacians certainly considered him a home-
grown god by Strabo’s time at the turn of the millennium.

Mircea Eliade suspects that the nature of the religion could have changed over the four
centuries between Herodotus and Strabo. The rituals practiced throughout the reigns of King
Burebista and King Decebalus (c. 82 BCE- 106
CE) appear to have revolved around ascet-
icism, having at some point jettisoned ban-
queting.19 The chief ascetics were high priests
who promoted vegetarianism, celibacy, and
abstinence from alcohol.20 It is largely Jordanes
who emphasizes the political significance of
the priests of Zalmoxis, specifically the influ-
ence of a certain Decaeneus over King Burebi-
sta.21 Whatever the extent of the priests’ power,
ancient accounts relate that the Dacians were
still worshipping Zalmoxis as their chief deity
through the end of Trajan’s Dacian Wars.

Astonishingly, no direct material culture
exists to trace the worship of Zalmoxis. The
Dacians developed no distinctive iconography
to reference this religion. There is no ritualistic
architecture that can be linked to Zalmoxis in
the archaeological record, no known under-
ground andreon for example. And worshippers
never made an effort to reify their messi-
ah-turned-deity in sculpture or paintings, a

171

Alvaro Ibarra

11.3. Detail of Co{ofene§ti Helmet, 4th century BCE. 11.4. Agighiol Helmet, 5th-4th century BCE. National
National Museum of Romanian History, Bucharest, Museum of Romanian History, Bucharest, 11181.

11420.

fact that may seem odd to western Christian audiences experiencing 1700 years of imaging
Jesus Christ.

This does not mean that the Dacians were averse to figural art or religious art for that
matter. Perhaps the most famous Dacian work of art is the dragon standard, such as those
represented numerous times on the Column of Trajan (fig. 11.2). The Dacians used a bat-
tle standard that resembled a wolf-headed serpent, a manifestation of their animist beliefs
persisting through the height of Zalmoxian fervor. Indeed, Dacian warriors found strength

in this symbol and believed they embodied the ferocious-
ness of the wolf in battle.22 Furthermore, Herodotus finds
contradiction in the Dacians’ practice of shooting arrows
at torrential clouds that threaten their solitary, celestial
god, Zalmoxis.23 A celestial deity that cannot control its
own realm cannot be all-powerful, indicating that the
Dacians recognized other supernatural powers beside
Zalmoxis. In this way, the Dacians may have placed Zal-
moxis atop a system of belief that included lesser powers
such as demons and spirits, if not outright gods.24 Zal-
moxians did nothing to extinguish these practices. In
fact, the archaeological record appears to support a kind
of laissez-faire approach to religion in Dacia in the multi-
ple ritual structures found in a given Dacian community.
It would therefore seem logical that this approach would
trickle into material culture.

Unlike their Greek and Roman counterparts, Dacian
pottery offers almost no evidence of religious preference
due to its geometric patterning. Some of the most visu-
ally stunning remains are in metalwork, specifically jew-

A . 1- 1 1 1 1 , , t elry and armor. The fourth -century BCE helmet from

11.5. Agighiol Helmet, detail. 1 1

172

Dacian Riders: Transcultural Expressions of Religious Identity in Roman Dacia in the Midst of War

n.6. Dacian rhyton, 3rd century BCE. National Museum of Romanian History,

Bucharest, 11335.

Cofofene§ti features magical composite creatures along the neck guard. More significantly, on
the cheek guard a warrior with dagger kneels on a collapsed ram pulling its head back, likely
indicating an imminent sacrifice (fig. 1 1.3). The image is reminiscent of the tauroctony asso-
ciated with the cult of Mithras, a composition that emerges many centuries later (see fig. 8.3).

The fifth-fourth-century BCE helmet
from the Agighiol Treasure (fig. 11.4)
depicts a large avian creature captur-
ing prey from both field (in its huge
talons) and stream (in its beak) on the
right cheek guard, no doubt invoking
another animal power.25 The artist
also rendered a mounted warrior, or
rider figure, on the left cheek guard;
he wears full-scale armor and wields
a spear, part of the tradition of rider
iconography shared with Thrace (fig.

11. 5). 26 The third century BCE rhyton
from Poroina may have been used for
more direct ritualistic purposes, such
as the pouring of libations or as a ves-
sel for sacred feasts. The rhyton is in
the shape of a goats head and depicts
four women— two standing and two
seated— holding aloft goat-headed rhyta, perhaps display-
ing the appropriate context for such fine drinking vessels. It
may even be a representation of a Zalmoxian dining ritual,
as the ancient sources create no gender distinction among
the followers ofZalmoxis (fig. 11.6).27

Although all of these works merely suggest the coexis-
tence of various belief systems (i.e., animism, pantheism,
tengriism, and polytheism) in a society deemed monothe-
istic by both Herodotus and Strabo, more direct evidence
can be seen in the architectural remains of Dacian settle-
ments. The native Dacian capital, Sarmizegetusa Regia,

(located 40 km northeast of the post-conquest Roman
capital Sarmizegetusa Regia Ulpia Traiana) contained
several sacred structures despite its all-important proxim-
ity to the Zalmoxian sacred mountain, Kogaionon. This
was not a phenomenon limited to the nexus of Dacian
political and religious power. The Iron Age community
of Tipia Ormeni§ului near the town of Raco§, Bra§ov
County also featured numerous ritualistic spaces, large,
non -functional structures erected on terraces with prime
vistas. Not having suffered the same degree of systematic
destruction as Sarmizegetusa Regia, the ruins near Raco§
provide a sounder context for understanding the nature
of native sacred areas. Archaeologist Florea Costea iden-
tifies four structures as having religious significance in
Tipia Ormeni§ului due to the presence of numerous votive
offerings within these buildings, including ritually split

and burnt luxury pottery and iron hooks for hanging gifts 1 1 7 Altar-shaped monument^ Apoldu de Sus, 2"d-3rd

173

Alvaro Ibarra

11.8. Funerary tondo from Apoldu de Sus, 3rd 11.9. Funerary tondo from Apoldu de Sus, 3rd century CE.

century CE.

to the god, coupled with the conspicuous absence of common objects. These structures are
also set apart due to their lack of any other form of pragmatic or everyday functionality
Moreover, they are all oriented toward the north, a common feature of many Dacian sacred
precincts.28 This evidence appears to support Dacians practicing religious tolerance, or at
the very least possessing a more diverse spectrum of worship outside the cult of Zalmoxis.29

Alas, despite the plethora of Dacian material remains, no certain native representations
of deities have emerged from the pre-Roman era. It is possible that the Dacian tradition of
reifying deities was aniconic rather than non-existent through the end of the Iron Age, from
the fifth century BCE through the early second century CE. I believe, however, that many
Dacians who participated in post-war mixed communities adopted figuration in monu-
ments as a way of expressing religious identity and the Romans did nothing to impede
natives from such expressions.

Post-War Funerary Monuments

Of any religious practice in the ancient world, it is perhaps the proper burial of the deceased
that resonates the most in both the disposal of physical remains and the religious treatment
of spiritual remains. The desire to appease the spirits of the dead would compel transgres-
sive behavior, the type evidenced in the material culture associated with death. The scope
of this paper does not allow for a thorough survey of all the known funerary monuments
from Dacia. Instead, I will address those few found in Sibiu County because these locations
are closest to the five Roman marching camps in one of the most tumultuous parts of the
province. I consider the content, style, date, and site of the sculptural remains in an effort to
uncover the nature of Roman and Dacian relations in the more hostile areas of the occupied
province — at least as expressed through funerary iconography.30

Pre-Roman burials often consisted of shallow cremation pits featuring varied deposits of
pottery, arms, armor, and jewelry. The pit was covered with soil and flat stones, rendering
the grave virtually invisible. There is no evidence of Dacians using conspicuous markers
such as stelae until after the Roman conquest. Leticia Marinescu relates that occupation-era
funerary monuments display localized variations of northern Italian forms throughout the
province with a closer adherence to classical models in Sarmizegetusa Ulpia Traiana and

174

Dacian Riders: Transcultural Expressions of Religious Identity in Roman Dacia in the Midst of War

Apulum from the second cen-
tury CE onward.31 As such con-
tributions clearly occurred after
Trajan’s conquest, we are left to
assume that the Romans cared
little about provincial devia-
tions in art and architecture
from the kind of art found in
Rome itself. The Roman army
did not use these anomalies as
proof of a non-Roman influ-
ence that needed to be eradi-
cated; at least no archaeological
evidence seems to support this
theory.32

The manipulation of Roman
forms may stem from a desire
to meet the expectations of
both Roman and Dacian mar-
tial forces that might happen
upon a given community. In
that context, inhabitants had
to be adept at appeasing agents
from either side of the conflict

at any given time. The fact that the greatest number of funerary monuments is found near
the largest Roman strongholds along the western edge of Dacia should surprise no one.

The funerary altar from Apoldu de Sus in Sibiu County incorporates a Roman altar form
with dentils and a dedicatory plaque combined with a unique rosette vegetal pattern and a
pair of guardian lions (fig. 11.7). The remaining inscription is the generic dedication to the
shades, Dis Manibus, found on tombstones throughout the empire. I suggest the mixture of
a Roman form and Latin text with provincial iconography is divergent enough to commu-
nicate a degree of non-Romanness.

Similarly, the funerary tondi from Apoldu de Sus and Tirnava in Sibiu County relay a
benign devotion to family, Roman or otherwise. These are small round stone votive pieces
featuring representations of a nuclear family, busts of a father and mother atop smaller busts
of two to five children (figs. 11.8-9). Although the practice and overall composition — sty-
listic deviations notwithstanding — may be Roman, there is no overt statement of political
allegiances being expressed in such funerary markers. If anything, Dacians might be able to
read into such an image a manifestation of an idyllic afterlife, the kind promised to follow-
ers of Zalmoxis. A manifold reading is not so far-fetched considering the Roman tradition
of building monuments for multiple audiences. Local patrons could take advantage of the
Romans’ relative ambivalence toward style and iconography in speaking to their gods or
their ancestors.

A more certain manifestation of this syncretic process can be seen in two funerary struc-
tures from §eica Mica (figs. 11.10-11). One stela contains in the lower level a representation
of Attis, with the iconographic markers of the Phrygian cap and staff (fig. 11.10). The cult
of Isis was certainly present in Dacia, brought by Roman settlers after the conquest.33 The
horse in the central register does not conform to the specific iconography of either Attis
or Isis. The uppermost register depicts a peacock. The peacock is rare in Isian symbolism
and is likely a later Roman connection. The common association between the peacock and
immortality and/or resurrection makes this addition appropriate. Moreover, Dacians might

175

have found the Isian belief in the afterlife familiar and non-threatening. After all, the cult of
Isis had Egyptian rather than Roman origins, a distant cousin to their own cult of Zalmoxis.

A second funerary stela from §eica Mica features yet another unique mix of religious
symbolism (fig. 11.11). The lowest and most damaged register appears to depict a man and
a woman performing some indiscernible ritual over a tripod. The middle register shows a
man behind a plow pulled by two draft animals and a smaller figure standing above. This
is not a scene of a common agricultural practice, but rather a representation of an individ-
ual ritualistically marking boundaries with sacred furrows or the sulcus primigenius. This
Roman practice was carried out many times in the provinces whenever a Roman commu-
nity was founded, as a kind of display of ownership.34 The small figure on a pedestal atop
the draft animals is a deviation not found in Roman counterparts. Finally, the uppermost
register contains a dynamic composition of a rider about to trample an enemy underfoot.

At first glance, the stela appears aggressively Roman, defiantly portraying the patrons
association with Roman rituals. A Roman might read the narrative of a man that earned
his land in Dacia through violence, perhaps in the Roman cavalry. This would seem a ter-
ribly risky declaration in war-torn Dacia if we consider viewership from the perspective
of a Dacian rebel. The reading is made more appropriate for both a Roman and Dacian
audience when we interpret the figure in the top register as the Thracian Rider rather than
a Roman soldier. This is significant due to the fact that the Thracian Rider is a catch-all rep-
resentation. Of the thousands of known reliefs from throughout the empire, the rider has
embodied Apollo, Asklepios, Hades, Hephaistos, Heracles, Jupiter, Silvanus, and dozens of
other native gods and heroes. The only way to know the identity of a particular horseman
was through the inscription.35 The Thracian Rider was likely familiar to the Dacians, due
to his popularity along the Danube among the mixed population from the second century
BCE onward — the so-called Danubian Rider.

The patron of the funerary stela from §eica Mica was careful to leave the inscription
off of the monument. Lacking specificity, the rider can be read as any laudable triumphant
over any given obstacle. A Dacian might read the triumph of a Dacian hero over Roman
oppressors, those that impose (however lightly) foreign practices. The Dacian might even
see the rider as the triumphant Zalmoxis conquering death. After all, the rider is familiar to
the natives, albeit in a different context, that of the centuries-old warrior pictured on Dacian
arms and armor.

Conclusion

It is worth reiterating that most of these funerary monuments come from larger, more Ro-
manized communities that contain a substantial military presence: Sarmizegetusa Regia
Ulpia Traiana, Apulum, and Porolissum. It is also worth noting that §eica Mica was within
striking distance of the large garrison at Apulum. There are no known Roman funerary
monuments further east, despite the presence of Roman marching camps throughout pres-
ent-day Bra§ov. This is not due to the absence of a mixed population. Dacian pottery can
be found alongside Roman remains around Feldioara, Cin§or, Hoghiz, and Homorod. I
suspect that these populations hesitated to express themselves as even marginally Roman
because they gained nothing from Romans too busy fighting a counterinsurgency to inspect
the conspicuous consumption of locals. Moreover, they risked angering resistance fighters
that continued to perforate Roman defenses decade after decade, those that expected noth-
ing in the way of religious expressions due to aniconic traditions. For rebel Dacians, such
monuments could be construed as political rather than purely religious expressions.

Dacian Riders: Transcultural Expressions of Religious Identity in Roman Dacia in the Midst of War

1 J. J. Wilkes, “Roman Legions and Their Fortresses in the Danube Lands,” in Roman Fortresses and
Their Legions, ed. Richard J. Brewer (London: Society of Antiquaries of London, 2000), 101-19.

2 L. Ellis, ‘“Terra Deserta’: Population, Politics, and the [De] Colonization of Dacia,” World Archae-
ology 30, no. 2 (1998): 220-37. In dealing with the Aurelian withdrawal from Dacia (270-275
CE), Ellis contests theories revolving around cultural and ethnic cleansing. Ellis maintains that
our understanding of population demographics during and following the Roman conquest are
wrong, greatly influenced by recent political history. It is contemporary politics that influenced
western understanding of ancient Romania rather than sound archaeology.

3 Cass. Dio 65.18.

4 Eutropius, Breviarium ab urbe condita 8.6.2. Octavian used a similar strategy to populate his
victory city at Nikopolis, Greece.

5 Lino Rossi, Trajan’s Column and the Dacian Wars, trans. J. M. C. Toynbee (Ithaca: Cornell Uni-
versity Press, 1971), 20-39, 58, and 210-12. However, Rossi claims stylistic shortcomings in later
material objects as proof of native artisans at work. The author makes no attempt to negotiate
this discrepancy.

6 Dan Ruscu, “The Supposed Extermination of the Dacians: The Literary Tradition,” in Roman
Dacia: The Making of a Provincial Society, ed. William S. Hanson and Ian P. Haynes (Portsmouth:
Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2004), 75-85.

7 Alexandru Dianconescu, “The Towns of Roman Dacia: An Overview of Recent Research,” in
ibid., 122-23.

8 The Romans were not averse to admitting the massacre of tens or even hundreds of thousands of
people in the name of victory. Sulla killed 100,000 enemy combatants at the Battle of Chaeroneia.
Titus and Vespasian may have murdered as many as a million people during the Jewish Wars.
Historians cite the numbers in these two cases, unlike the known accounts of Trajan’s Dacian
Wars.

9 Ioana A. Oltean, Dacia: Landscape, Colonisation, Romanisation (London: Routledge, 2007), 119.
See Oltean for more on the mislabeling of communities in Dacia during the Roman occupation.

10 Ibid., 122.

1 1 Ibid., 147. As much as 10-15% of the pottery found was Dacian at the settlement near Obreja. At
the equivalent site of Nolsac, the recovered pottery was 55% native.

12 Diaconescu, “Towns of Roman Dacia,” 122-28.

13 Oltean, Dacia: Landscape, Colonisation, Romanisation, 162.

14 See Alexandre Simon Stefan, Les guerres daciques de Domitien et de Trajan: Architecture militaire,
topographie, images et histoire (Rome: Ecole fran^aise de Rome, 2005) and Everett L. Wheeler,
“Rome’s Dacian Wars: Domitian, Trajan, and Strategy on the Danube, Part I,” Journal of Military
History 74, no. 4 (2010): 1185-227 for in-depth analysis of Roman and Dacian strategies during
the Dacian Wars.

15 Ioana Bogdan Cataniciu, Evolution of the System of Defence Works in Roman Dacia, trans. Etta
Dumitrescu (Oxford: British Archaeological Reports, 1981), 21-22.

16 Mircea Eliade, Zalmoxis the Vanishing God: Comparative Studies in the Religions and Folklore of
Dacia and Eastern Europe, trans. Willard R. Trask (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1970).
See Eliade’s study on the cult of Zalmoxis for an in-depth summary of its history and a thorough

177

Alvaro Ibarra

review of the major late nineteenth- to mid-twentieth-century publications on the religion.

17 Hdt. 4.94-96.

18 Hdt. 4.95.4-5.

19 Eliade, Zalmoxis the Vanishing God, 64.

20 Vasile Parvan, Dacia civilizapile antice din Carpato-danubiene (Bucharest: Editura $tiin(ifica,
1967), 103. Parvan suggests this element of asceticism promulgated by a powerful priestly class
may be due to exposure to Celts and their Druidic religious beliefs.

21 Strab. 7.3.5; Jordanes, Getica 1 1.67-68. Strabo only mentions the connection between priest and
king in passing as a mutually beneficial alliance. Alternatively, Jordanes says that the Burebista
gave Decaeneus kingly powers.

22 Eliade, Zalmoxis the Vanishing God, 1-20. The author summarizes the various ancient accounts
and more recent folklore associated with lupine beliefs and practices around the Balkans.

23 Hdt. 4.94.4.

24 A similar phenomenon is found in the new world cult of saints. Indigenous peoples throughout
the Americas used saints to replace the native pantheon of gods, leaving Christ at the head of this
collective. Although never sanctioned by the Catholic Church, many native rituals and beliefs
survived conversion and systematic purges.

25 I assume this is a reference to an animist, non-Zalmoxian practice. There is no mention of animal
sacrifice or mythological beasts in Zalmoxian religion. However, there is no apparent restriction
to a warrior’s desire to invoke these powers.

26 It is especially noteworthy that the Dacians had used the rider composition in their artwork as
early as the fifth or fourth century BCE.

27 Paul MacKendrick, The Dacian Stones Speak (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press,
1975), 29. MacKendrick describes these figures as goddesses without any evidence for this attri-
bution.

28 Florea Costea, “Central religios Pandacic de la Augustin, judeful Brasov” (PhD diss., Universi-
tatea Transilvania din Brasov, 2007), 85-110.

29 Kris Lockyear, “The Late Iron Age Background to Roman Dacia,” in Roman Dacia, 33-74. In his
survey of numerous Dacian Iron Age settlements, Lockyear concludes the architectural diversi-
ty reflects equally diverse communities with populations possessing varied ethnic and cultural
backgrounds and divergent political allegiances. The author seeks to refute the concept of a uni-
fied Dacia during the reign of Burebista. He does not address notions of Zalmoxian monotheism
in his publication.

30 See Leticia Aeposu Marinescu, Funerary Monuments in Dacia Superior and Dacia Porolissensis,
trans. Nubar Hampartumian (Oxford: British Archaeological Reports, 1982) and Carmen Ci-
ongradi, “Burial Monuments and Their Implications,” in Roman Dacia, 165-78 for more thor-
ough analyses of Dacian funerary sculpture. I rely heavily on Marinescu and Ciongradi’s typolo-
gies and interpretations.

31 Marinescu, Funerary Monuments in Dacia, 62-65. Marinescu acknowledges the presence of nu-
merous native contributions to the foreign tradition of funerary markers.

32 Wheeler, “Rome’s Dacian Wars,” 1203. Wheeler’s conviction that the Romans waged a religious

178

Dacian Riders: Transcultural Expressions of Religious Identity in Roman Dacia in the Midst of War

war against the Dacians is based on the absence of religious material objects that were never
part of the Dacian religious tradition. The Romans’ destruction of religious structures in hilltop
or terraced locales was more likely strategic, believing these sites to be martially significant like
Gallic oppida.

33 If the worship of Isis predates the Roman occupation of Dacia, there is no archaeological ev-
idence to prove anyone practicing this religion. This does not bar the possibility that Dacian
aniconic traditions extended to members of the cult of Isis.

34 Joseph Rykwert, The Idea of a Town: The Anthropology of Urban Form in Rome, Italy and the
Ancient World (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1988).

35 Nora Dimitrova, “Inscriptions and Iconography in the Monuments of the Thracian Rider,” Hes-
peria 71, no. 2 (2002): 209-29.

179

iiMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMii

Struggling to Be Roman in a Former Roman Province

Robin Fleming

Material practices are essential to the successful performance of particular
identities, and objects and people thus become mutually associated in the
construction of individuals and groups, and of their power to act in the
world.1

What did it mean to be “Roman” in a provincial society, when Roman material culture was
no longer readily available? How did Roman ways of life, identity, burial, and status-mark-
ing change in provinces where the Roman economy had collapsed and connections to the
wider Roman world were unraveling? These are pressing questions for scholars of Britain,
because the diocese experienced stunning economic and political dislocations in the later
fourth and early fifth centuries. Although Britain in 300 CE had been as Roman as any
province in the empire, within a single generation of 400, urban life, industrial- scale manu-
facturing of basic goods, the money economy, and the state collapsed.2 In the midst of these
dislocations one of the most ubiquitous, inexpensive, and fundamental classes of Roman
material culture — mass-produced, wheel-thrown pottery made within Roman Britain it-
self—began to disappear. So, the question arises: What did people do in the face of the Ro-
mano-British pottery industry’s collapse? And what can this tell us about the fate of roma-
nitas in Roman provincial societies where the state and economy imploded, and where once
ubiquitous, mass-produced, everyday objects were growing ever more difficult to procure?

Elites in Britain even before the Roman conquest had had access to Roman pottery, and
in the two centuries after the conquest, imported, wheel-thrown, kiln-fired, workshop-pro-
duced pottery came to be a staple, everyday item for more Romanized groups and settle-
ments within Britain.3 By the turn of the fourth century, pottery production had expanded
dramatically — both in volume and in the impressive range of pot-types made — and in this
later period it was taking place on large, nucleated, rural/industrial sites within Britain
itself.4 Pots from Romano-British kilns were ubiquitous in the early fourth century, not only
because they could be purchased cheaply in local markets, but because they served as ship-
ping containers for salt and agricultural products, and because they sat at the center of the
late Roman redistributive economy and were used to move and store late Roman in-kind
food taxes and rents.5 As a result, by the early fourth century even British peasants living in
rural backwaters found themselves in possession of gray-, red-, and parchment-wares and
sometimes even a fine- ware vessel or two.6

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Robin Fleming

The widespread adoption of Roman-style pottery by
all social classes was not something that happened in
Britain alone, and it is suggestive of the tectonic shifts
in the ways even humble people in provincial societies
came to live their lives.7 Pottery, of course, was one of
those unconscious products of everyday life, one that
crucially affected the ways people cooked, ate, stored
their surplus, socialized, interacted with their betters and
inferiors, and practiced rituals associated with death.
The fact that late Roman pottery was part of so many
(and so many kinds of different) peoples daily routines
is suggestive of the impact Rome had on provincial life.

Romano-British pottery, like pottery across the
empire, was manufactured and distributed with the help
of complex networks of clay diggers, fuel providers, kiln
masters, boatmen and teamsters, merchants, villa over-
seers, and state provisioners.8 As the systems and insti-
tutions that held these groups together began to unravel,
pottery manufacturing and distribution at this level became unsustainable, and sometime in
the decades on either side of 400 the pottery industry in Britain collapsed.9 Although a few
late Roman pottery types continued to be made on a much- diminished scale and distributed
locally into the middle of the fifth century,10 most people living in Britain ceased to have
access to the Romano-British ceramics that had shaped the lives of their parents and grand-
parents. And, because so much pottery in the fourth century had been fashioned by profes-
sional potters, most households did not possess the knowledge and skills needed to produce
pottery. Once production was disrupted and professional potters could no longer make a
living plying their specialist trade, households without potting know-how would have to
figure out how to make or procure pots for themselves.11 So, the question arises: What did
they do? And more importantly, what can their responses tell us about provincial romanticist
In order to answer these questions, we will examine the ways three different communities
in fifth- and early sixth-century Britain acquired and used pottery produced in the Roman
period (fig. 12. 1). A study of the reuse of old Roman pots after Roman systems of production
collapsed hints at the ways some people were attempting to marshal Roman material culture
to help them maintain some semblance of romanitas in a part of the world that was rapidly
evolving into not- Roman, while others appear to have been turning their backs on it.

Cadbury Congresbury

In the West Country, as Roman imperial institutions and structures collapsed, some house-
holds abandoned their homes and moved to ancient hillforts. These had been built long
before the Roman conquest and had been abandoned for hundreds of years by the time
they were resettled in the early fifth century.12 One such place, Cadbury Congresbury in
Somerset, became home to a community for much of the fifth and sixth centuries.13 The
people who first resettled the hillfort were culturally Romano-British, but they arrived with
only an impoverished, residual version of Roman material culture. Nonetheless, in their
first couple of decades at the hillfort, at least some members of the community were using
fast- wheel, mass-produced Romano-British pottery: the remains of at least 170 Roman pots
have been found on the site.14 They also had impressive amounts of Roman glass in the form
of bottles and beakers, in total a minimum of 60 glass vessels have been found there.15 The
sites excavators, based on analysis of the break patterns and distribution of the glass and
ceramic sherds found at Cadbury Congresbury, have argued that this material arrived at the

Baldock

Cadbury 4

Congresbury X

Barrow Hills

i2.i. Locations of Romano-British communities.

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Struggling to Be Roman in a Former Roman Province

site whole and that it was being used for domestic purposes, in particular for high-status
dining.16 The bulk of this material, however, had been manufactured 100 years or more
before its reuse by the hillfort community.17

Although it is possible that some of this material was brought to the hillfort as cherished
family heirlooms, much of it had probably been scavenged.18 The most obvious place in
the fifth century where one could find large quantities of centuries-old, unbroken vessels
is a closed context, that is, a place where delicate objects like these had been taken out of
circulation for a time. And, the most likely closed context for glass and pottery are Roman
cemeteries.19 This is because the majority of people in Britain in the second and third cen-
turies were cremated (as were people across the empire at this time), after which their ashes
were decanted into glass jars or wheel-thrown pots. These cinerary urns were then some-
times accompanied in the ground by collections of other pots and glassware.20 Then, as
Romano-British people moved to inhumation in the later third century (as people, again,
did across the empire),21 they sometimes placed pots in the graves of their dead.22 So, it
is likely that people living at Cadbury Congresbury in the fifth century, who continued to
have access to mass-produced wheel-thrown pottery and glass vessels — classes of objects no
longer made in the area in which they lived — were systematically grave- robbing in order to
supply themselves with ceramic pots and glass, which they emptied of their human ash or
dug out from under the bones of the dead and then used for cooking and serving food. The
presence of such material at Cadbury Congresbury points to people determined to continue,
as best they could, with the material culture and foodways of their forebearers, no matter the
humiliations involved in procuring Roman vessels, which they felt they could not do with-
out, but which they could no longer purchase or manufacture on their own.

The society forming at Cadbury Congresbury rapidly evolved from this final Roman
phase into something quite different. The mix of people who had moved into the hillfort —
refugees from defunct urban communities, villa owners and their peasants, small farmers
and communities whose livings had been tied to temple complexes — had resided in different
worlds before the fall, but they now lived in a new place, in a single community, and under
these circumstances and in the face of economic collapse, their little society moved rapidly
from Roman to something else. Within a generation of the hillfort’s reoccupation, and quite
possibly from its inception, some individual, family, or clique was in charge. Indeed, claim-
ing such an impressive site in the first place may have been the way some person or group
moved to assert authority in the neighborhood. By about 500, serious refortification efforts
were underway and an impressive watchtower, reminiscent of late Roman military architec-
ture, was built from timber and sod.23 Over the course of Cadbury Congresbury s second
life, as many as 200 structures were built, and this points to a pool of labor and considerable
resources and organization. The buildings themselves were quite varied. None were of mor-
tared stone, a lost art in much of fifth-century Britain, but there was a large timber long-
house, doubtless the residence of some great man and his kin. Other structures at Cadbury
Congresbury, however, were closely related to the modest roundhouses of the pre-Roman
Iron Age, a vernacular building style that continued throughout the Roman period in rural
backwaters, and one that was now reasserting itself in the face of the deskilling of more
Romanized populations.24 The mix of Roman-style watch towers, longhouses, and simple
roundhouses reveals a community in which some were in charge and others did as they were
told.

For a 75-year period, as the stock of scavenged Roman pottery ran out, new mass-pro-
duced, wheel-thrown pottery appeared on the site. Here as elsewhere in western Britain —
most famously at Tintagel in Cornwall and Dinas Powys in Glamorgan — archaeologists have
recovered sherds of fifth- and sixth- century tableware and amphorae from the Aegean, the
eastern Mediterranean, North Africa, and perhaps southern Spain, some of which had been
used as shipping containers for wine or olive oil.25 These extraordinary finds bespeak the

183

Robin Fleming

resumption of a small, but signifi-
cant long-distance trade in which
merchants and sailors found it
worth their while to cross the whole
of the Mediterranean and then brave
the western sea routes to Britain, a
round trip journey of some 10,000
km.26 Whoever controlled the com-
munity at Cadbury Congresbury,
in the wilds of the lost colony, must
have had something Greek-speak-
ing traders badly wanted. What they
probably had was tin, a rarity in
Europe, and a commodity known in
late antiquity as “the British metal.”27
In return for this, and whatever else
they had worth trading, a thin trickle
of Roman ceramics and foodstuffs
once again came into the hands of
some of the hillforts inhabitants.
Infrequent though these contacts
may have been, this exchange allowed the most important members of the community to
reassert their romanitas and to underscore their superior position within the society of the
rebuilt hillfort with the aid of Roman ceramics. During great feasts and celebrations held
in their timber hall, they ate beef taken from the large herds of cattle they now controlled,
dined on Roman tableware, and drank rare, Greek wine.28 This was hardly the good life as
described by classical authors during Romes Golden Age, but it was the continuation of a
political style centuries old by Roman Britain’s fall, a social strategy of marking ones grand
status by connecting oneself to Rome and things-Roman.

Baldock “California” Cemetery

Our second group of Roman pot-seekers lived some 200 km
to the east of Cadbury Congresbury, in northern Hertford-
shire. In the fifth century a few people were still living in and
around the now defunct Roman small town of Baldock, a
once lively place with a hardworking population of crafts-
men and traders, and the site of an important local shrine
that had attracted pilgrims and other travelers.29 Although
Baldock was no longer an urban settlement in 400, a few
people residing in the area continued to bury their dead in
a couple of its many Roman cemeteries, including the one
known as “California”30 (fig. 12.2), which had served as a
burial site since the second century CE.31 Unlike Cadbury
Congresbury, there is little evidence here for steep social hi-
erarchy or impressive wealth, and none of the households
using the cemetery in the post-Roman period seem to have
been very well off.

During the Roman period, a number of quintessential^
Romano-British funerary rites had been practiced at Califor-
nia, including postmortem decapitation and hobnail-boot

12.3. Beaker from the California cemetery.
Museums Resource Centre, Hitchin, Herts, BAL
13633.8872.

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Struggling to Be Roman in a Former Roman Province

burial.32 Most of the dead during the Roman period
were placed in the ground in nailed coffins, and a
number were accompanied in their graves by domes-
tic fowl and mass-produced, wheel-thrown pots,
many of them color-coated beakers and bowls. These
pots were often smashed at the feet of the dead before
the sealing of the grave.33

After 400, as pottery and iron production faltered
in the region,34 the community burying at Califor-
nia carried on, as best it could, with time-honored
Romano-British funerary traditions.35 Domestic fowl
and coffins (although some now partially or wholly
fastened with wooden dowels rather than iron nails)
continued to play starring roles in funerals; and
post-mortem decapitations and hobnail-boot burial
persisted,36 as did the placing of pots (often broken
during the burial ritual) at the feet of the dead. One
of California’s fifth- century graves contains a stun-
ning provision — an extremely worn fourth-century
color-coated beaker that had to have been at least a
half-century old when buried (fig. 12.3). Unlike the
ceramics at Cadbury Congresbury, this pot had not
come from a closed context. Much of its slip-coat
had rubbed off from long years of use, and its rim
and base were nicked and worn with age.37 Although
this is exactly the same kind of little color-coated
beaker favored by mourners burying at California in
the fourth century, the appearance of the one in the
fifth-century grave is startlingly different, because
although seconds were sometimes used in fourth-cen-
tury burials, pots as hard-worn as this never were.38
This pot is an extraordinary survival, an heirloom
carefully husbanded by people determined to carry
on funerary practices in which their families had par-
ticipated for generations, rituals, with the collapse of
industrial-scale pottery production, that must have
required determination and the careful preservation
of whatever pots they had left.

Several other post-400 graves at California
included hand-built pots. One grave contained a
small, lopsided pot made to look like a fourth-cen-
tury, wheel-thrown, flanged, rimmed Nene Valley
dish: this is yet another pot that was so worn when
placed in its grave that most of its color-coated slip
had disappeared (fig. 12.4). 39 A heavily used, gen-
uine fourth-century Nene Valley color-coated dish
was buried in another late/post-Roman cemetery
nearby, this one at Welwyn Hall (fig. 12. 5).40 Here,
too — judging from the very worn condition of this
fourth- century pot — was a cemetery where Roman
burial traditions continued past circa 400. 41 It shares

12.4. Dish from the California cemetery. Museums
Resource Centre, Hitchin, Herts, BAL 1.1193.

12.5. Dish from Welwyn Hall, Herts. Mill Green Museum
and Mill, Hatfield, Herts, HAT 165.70.1153.

12.6. Pot from the California cemetery. Museums Resource
Centre, Hitchin, Herts, BAL 1.3633.8873.

185

Robin Fleming

the fabric, slip-coat, and shape of the flanged California
dish, and clearly represents the kind of pot the maker of
the California piece was attempting to replicate. Unlike
the Welwyn Hall pot, however, which was wheel-thrown
in the fourth century, the California bowl was hand-
built in the fifth. Another California grave contained a
little bowl with a rimmed lip and a foot, to give it the
look of a wheel thrown pot (fig. 12.6).42 Probably what
the maker had in mind was a Hadham-ware bowl -jar,
a ceramic type that had been locally mass-produced in
the fourth century. It is, however, hand-built, made by a
person who had a clear idea of what a pot should look
like, that is, it should look like a wheel-thrown pot, but
who had not mastered all the techniques that had been
used by professional potters a generation or two earlier
(fig. 12.7). So here, again, is evidence of someone in the
fifth century attempting to create a well-known Romano-British pot type, someone who
knew what it should look like but did not have mastery over the techniques and technologies
that stood behind its earlier inspiration.

At some point in the late fifth or early sixth century, the last of the surviving late Roman
pots in northern Hertfordshire broke, and both Roman pots as grave goods and as models
for new pots disappeared. There is some evidence that people making pots in northern Hert-
fordshire in the very late fifth or sixth century were still carrying some Roman notions in
their heads about what made a pot a pot, but that they had begun to take on board ideas held
by immigrants new to the area, “Anglo-Saxon” settlers who were coming from across the
North Sea.43 At Pirton, Hertfordshire, for example, part of a late fifth- or early sixth-century
pot has been found that points to the development of a new, hybrid potting tradition. The
sherd was decorated in a way similar, but not identical, to what could be found on contem-
porary “Anglo-Saxon” pottery, but the fabric of the pot was Romano-British.44

12.7. Bowl-jar from the Welwyn Hall cemetery. Mi
Green Museum and Mill, Hatfield, Herts, HAT
165.1153.68-72.

Barrow Hills

Eighty-five km to the west of Baldock, at Barrow Hills, in Radley, Oxfordshire, a third
community was also using old Roman ceramics. Like the people at Cadbury Congresbury
they seem to have been scavenging for pots, but unlike them, they were only interested in
smallish, late Roman color-coated wares, the kinds of pots favored by the people burying
at California.45 The people of Barrow Hills had many nearby sources for Roman pottery.
The ruins of a modest villa lay only 300 m from their settlement,46 and the region in which
they lived was thick with deserted Romano-British kilns, which had once produced co-
pious amounts of color-coated ware, and would, in the fifth and sixth centuries, still have

been places marked by large dumps of pottery wasters.47
One such dump, at nearby Lower Larm, in Nuneham
Courtenay, when recently surveyed, measured some-
thing on the order of 80 x 15 m.48 The impression gained
from inspecting the Barrow Hills ceramics, however, is
that many of them were coming from closed contexts
because they retained their polished surfaces and un-
broken edges, therefore a far cry from those worn little
pots used in fifth- and early sixth-century funerals in
and around Baldock. There were a number of sources
for buried pottery in the neighborhood. Indeed, small,

12.8. Base of a pot from the Barrow Hills, Radley
settlement. Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, Barrow Hills,
Radley, 1225/Bi, 1467.

186

Struggling to Be Roman in a Former Roman Province

12.9a. Angular rimmed saucer brooch. British
Museum, London, 1964.7.2.394.

whole, color-coated drinking beakers accompanied some of
the fourth-century Romano -British dead laid to rest in a cem-
etery located at the very edge of the Barrow Hills settlement,49
and similar vessels, as we have seen in our examination of the
California cemetery, could be found in many other late Ro-
man cemeteries.50 There were also a number of late Roman rit-
ual deposits of color-coated vessels in the neighborhood.51 In
short, there were many promising places around Barrow Hills
for people to poke around when they went looking for old Ro-
man pots.

Unlike their contemporaries at Cadbury Congresbury and
Baldock, California, the people at Barrow Hills did not use
the pots they were collecting for cooking or dining or in their
funerary rites: they were not even using them as pots. Instead,
they were only interested in the bases of old Roman pots, which
they collected by breaking off or chipping away the body of the
pot from its foot-ring base (fig. 12.8). 52 Not all Roman pots had
footed bases, but it is clear that the people of Barrow Hills were
selecting for pots that did.53 In total, archaeologists recovered
75 modified Roman pot bases during their excavation of the
Barrow Hill’s settlement, and they constitute the most common
artifact-type by far recovered from the site.54 The curious pot-
tery-collecting habits of the people of Barrow Hills were shared
by other groups living in the Thames Valley as well as in eastern
England.55 So what were the people at Barrow Hills and else-
where doing with Roman pot bases? In order to answer this
question, we need to turn our attention to the kind of brooches
women were beginning to wear a couple of generations after
400 in the region in which Barrow Hills lies.

Saucer brooches were the most common type of brooch
worn by women in the Thames Valley in the fifth and sixth
centuries.56 They were worn by women in matching pairs, one
on each shoulder.57 Although the craftsmen who made them
worked hard to create identical sets, Tania Dickinson has
pointed out that it is likely from the small differences found in
pair-designs, that each brooch was cast from a different mold,
most likely made using the lost- wax method.58 Two wax blanks
would be made, and then the metalworker, to the best of his
ability, would carve the same relief design into each wax disc,
which in turn would be covered with clay, fired, the wax poured
out and the melted copper-alloy poured in to make two, nearly
identical cast brooches.

Although the relief decorations on each brooch in a pair differ slightly, the three diam-
eters (of the decorative field, the rim-to-rim, and back base), vary hardly at all, as Dick-
inson has shown, usually by less than 1 mm,59 and the angles of the rims of each pair are
nearly identical. In short, the wax templates not only included the decorative center of each
brooch, but their rims as well, which come, essentially, in three forms: angular, flared, or
“acutely upturned”60 (see figs. 12.9a-c). This suggests that the wax blanks for each pair had,
themselves, been made with the same template. So how were metal smiths making their
matched wax templates? With curated and modified Roman pot bases, most of which have

12.9b. Flared rimmed saucer brooch. British
Museum, London, 1929.7.15.1.

12.9c. “Acutely upturned" rimmed saucer
brooch. British Museum, London, 75.310.204.

187

Robin Fleming

12.10a. Angular modified Roman pot base.
Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, Barrow Hills,
Radley, 125/Bi, 1467.

the same angular, flared, or acutely upturned profiles as saucer
brooches, and whose dimensions are very much the same as
these brooches (see figs. 12.10a-c).

Conclusions

Each of the three communities of Roman pot users we have
examined responded differently to the disappearance of
mass-produced Romano -British vessels and treated residual
Roman material culture in its own way. Old Roman ceramics
and glassware at Cadbury Congresbury were used by elites to
maintain and underscore social distinctions that were one of
the hallmarks of the late Roman period across the empire, and
they used scavenged Romano -British pots until new supplies
of Mediterranean tableware arrived in the late fifth century. By
the looks of it, elite members of the community at Cadbury
Congresbury were determined to invoke romanitas whenever
and however they could, even in the face of economic collapse,
and they were able to maintain foodways and dining practices
that evoked those of the Roman past, and then carry on with
them, once they reestablished links with the Roman Mediter-
ranean, and could tap into supplies of newly made Roman pot-
tery. The hardworking people settled in and around the dying
Roman small town of Baldock husbanded long-ago made pots
in order to carry on Romano -British funerary traditions that
were important to them, and some people in the area contin-
ued to make pots that were meant to look like Roman pots, but
which were made using techniques that were different from
the ones standing behind the fourth- century wares they were
attempting to imitate. In the same period, people living in a
new settlement at Barrow Hills, some of them probably im-
migrants, and others indigenes, perhaps the servile population
attached to the nearby deserted Roman villa at Barton Court
Farm — never met a Roman pot they did not want to break, and
they used the late Roman fine wares they collected not to carry
on old, Roman ways, but to make brand-new kinds of material
culture, unknown during the Roman period.

So, to answer the questions with which this paper began, we
can see a variety of responses in Britain to the disappearance
of Roman material culture in the fifth and early sixth centu-
ries. People of differing social statuses and resources continued
to search for and use mass-produced Roman pots, but their
engagement with, procurement, and use of Roman material culture varied from neighbor-
hood to neighborhood and community to community. This, in turn, hints at a great variety
of ways local groups and households must have thought about, perpetuated, or turned their
backs on Roman ways as Britain moved from Roman to something else.

12.10b. Flared Roman modified pot base.
Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, Barrow Hills,
Radley, 3578/B2, 1484.

12.10c. “Acutely upturned" modified Roman
pot base. Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, Barrow
Hills, Radley, 3288/A1, 1479.

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Struggling to Be Roman in a Former Roman Province

1 Andrew Gardner, “Seeking a Material Turn: The Artefactuality of the Roman Empire,” in TRAC
2002: Proceedings of the 12th Annual Theoretical Roman Archaeology Conference, Canterbury
2002, ed. Gillian Carr, Ellen Swift, and Jake Weekes (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2003), 4.

2 Robin Fleming, “The Rise and Fall of Late Antique Britain: The Second to Early Fifth Century,”
chap. 1 in Britain after Rome: The Fall and Rise, 400 to 1070 (London: Penguin, 2010).

3 Guy de la Bedoyere, Pottery in Roman Britain (Princes Riseborough: Shire Books, 2000); Paul
Tyers, Roman Pottery in Britain (London: Routledge, 2003); Steven Willis, “The Romanization
of Pottery Assemblages in the East and North-East of England during the First Century AD: A
Comparative Analysis,” Britannia 27 (1996): 214, 219; Martin Pitts, “Regional Identities and the
Social Use of Ceramics,” in TRAC 2004: Proceedings of the 14th Annual Theoretical Roman Archae-
ology Conference, Durham 2004, ed. James Bruhn, Ben Croxford, and Dimitris Grigoropoulos
(Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2005), 50-64.

4 Michael Gordon Fulford, “The Location of Romano-British Pottery Kilns: Institutional Trade
and the Market,” in Roman Pottery Studies in Britain and Beyond: Papers Presented to John Gil-
lam, July 1977, ed. John Dore and Kevin Greene (Oxford: British Archaeological Reports, 1977),
301-16; Vivian G. Swan, Roman Pottery in Britain, 4th ed. (Princes Riseborough: Shire Books,

1988) ; Mark Whyman, “Late Roman Britain in Transition, AD 300-500: A Ceramic Perspective
from East Yorkshire” (PhD diss., University of York, 2001), 153-55, 170.

5 There are spirited arguments between those who believe that market forces stood behind the
widespread adoption of Roman pottery, and scholars who argue that the demands of the late
Roman state and landlords are the explanation. It seems likely to me, however, that both sides are
partially correct, since there is evidence for each of these forces in the archaeological record. See,
for example, Jeremy Evans, “Crambeck: The Development of a Major Northern Pottery Indus-
try,” in Crambeck Roman Pottery, ed. Peter R. Wilson (York: Yorkshire Archaeological Society,

1989) , 43, 78; Whyman, “Late Roman Britain in Transition”; Nick Cooper, “Searching for the
Blank Generation: Consumer Choice in Roman and Post-Roman Britain,” in Roman Imperial-
ism: Post-Colonial Perspectives, ed. Jane Webster and Nick Cooper (Leicester: School of Archae-
ological Studies, University of Leicester, 1996), 86-88; James Gerrard, “Pots for Cash? A Critique
of the Role of the ‘Free Market’ in the Late Roman Economy,” in TRAC 2001: Proceedings of the
11th Annual Theoretical Roman Archaeology Conference, Newcastle 2001, ed. Martin Carruthers
et al. (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2002), 13-23; Steve Roskams, “The Hinterlands of Roman York:
Present Patterns and Future Strategies,” in The Coloniae of Roman Britain: New Studies and a
Review, ed. Henry Hurst (Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 1999), 45-72. For the
“market” forces standing behind the distribution of inexpensive, low-status metal objects, see
Melissa L. Ratliff, “Globalisation, Consumerism and the Ancient Roman Economy: A Prelimi-
nary Look at Bronze and Iron Production and Consumption,” in TRAC 2010: Proceedings of the
20th Theoretical Roman Archaeology Conference, Oxford 2010, ed. Dragana Mladenovic and Ben
Russell (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2011), 37-38.

6 Mike McCarthy, The Romano-British Peasant: Towards a Study of People, Landscapes and Work
during the Roman Occupation of Britain (Oxford: Windgather, 2013), 115; Cooper, “Searching
for the Blank Generation,” 85, 89; Richard Hingley, Globalizing Roman Culture: Unity, Diversity
and Empire (London: Routledge, 2005), 105-9.

7 Roman E. Roth, “Towards a Ceramic Approach to Social Identity in the Roman World: Some
Theoretical Considerations,” in “ Romanization?]’ supplement 1, Digressus (2003): 37-41; Greg
Woolf, “The Unity and Diversity of Romanisation,” Journal of Roman Archaeology 5 (1992):

189

Robin Fleming

349-52. Similar developments could be found across the late Roman world — each provinces
products, although bearing distinctive local traits, nonetheless fit very much within empire-wide
potting traditions (Whyman, “Late Roman Britain in Transition,” 140-41; Michel Bonifay, “Ce-
ramic Production in Africa during Late Antiquity: Continuity and Change,” in Technology in
Transition, AD 300-650, ed. Luke Lavan, Enrico Zanini, and Alexander Sarantis [Leiden: Brill,
2008], 143-58; Rob Collins, Hadrian’s Wall and the End of Empire: The Roman Frontier in the
Fourth and Fifth Centuries [London: Routledge, 2012], 64).

8 Mark Jackson and Kevin Greene, “Ceramic Production,” in The Oxford Handbook of Engineering
and Technology in the Classical World, ed. John Peter Oleson (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2008), 501-4 and Andrew I. Wilson, “Large-Scale Manufacturing, Standardization, and Trade,”
in ibid., 396-402.

9 For explanations for why this happened, see Jeremy Evans, “The End of Roman Pottery in the
North,” in The Late Roman Transition in the North, ed. Tony Wilmott and Peter Wilson (Ox-
ford: British Archaeological Reports, 2000), 41; Whyman, “Late Roman Britain in Transition,”
357-62.

10 For the continuation of calcite-gritted fabrics in Yorkshire, see Whyman, “Late Roman Britain in
Transition,” 362; Evans, “Crambeck,” 74-80. For the continuation of a fabric dubbed SEDOWW
in Dorset, see James Gerrard, “Finding the Fifth Century: A Late Fourth- and Early Fifth-Centu-
ry Pottery Fabric from South-East Dorset,” Britannia 41 (2010): 293-312.

11 Nicholas J. Cooper, “The Roman Pottery” in The Archaeology of Rutland Water: Excavations at
Empingham, 1967-73 and 1990 (Leicester: Leicester Archaeology Monographs, 2000), 97.

12 Leslie Alcock, Dinas Powys: An Iron Age, Dark Age and Early Medieval Settlement in Glamorgan
(Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 1963); Ian Burrow, Hillfort and Hill-top Settlement in Som-
erset in the First to Eighth Centuries AD (Oxford: British Archaeological Reports, 1981); Leslie
Alcock, Cadbury Castle, Somerset: The Early Medieval Archaeology (Cardiff: University of Wales
Press, 1995); Philip Rahtz et al., Cadbury Congresbury 1968-73: A Late/Post Roman Hilltop Set-
tlement in Somerset (Oxford: Tempus Repartum, 1992).

13 Rahtz et al., Cadbury Congresbury, 227-31.

14 Ibid., 147-54, 230.

15 Ibid., 131-39.

16 Ibid., 230; Ian Burrow, “Roman Material from Hillforts,” in The End of Roman Britain: Papers
Arising from a Conference, Durham 1978, ed. P. J. Casey (Oxford: British Archaeological Reports,
1979), 212-29. A more recent taphonomic study of the site has confirmed Rahtz s arguments
(Ewen Campbell, Continental and Mediterranean Imports to Atlantic Britain and Ireland, AD
400-800 [York: Council of British Archaeology, 2007], 103).

17 Rahtz et al., Cadbury Congresbury, 131-39, 228.

18 Ibid., 132-33, 137, 228. Annette Haug has usefully defined heirlooms as objects which are about
the remembrance of the relatively recent past, and are, therefore, objects that cannot be more
than three or four generations old (“Constituting the Past — Forming the Present,” Journal of the
History of Collections 13 [2001]: 112). Allen and Fulford have gathered ethnographic evidence
concerning the typical longevity of pots in twentieth-century, ceramic-dependent cultures. They
record that bowls tend to survive one to two years and medium cooking pots for seven to ten
years. Large cooking pots and storage vessels last between 15 and 20 years (J. R. L. Allen and

190

Struggling to Be Roman in a Former Roman Province

M. G. Fulford, “The Distribution of South-East Dorset Black Burnished Category I Pottery in
South-West Britain,” Britannia 27 [1996]: 25).

19 Rahtz et al, Cadbury Congresbury, 228, 230.

20 Ibid., 147-48.

21 Nicholas Cooke, “The Definition and Interpretation of Late Roman Burial Rites in the Western
Empire” (PhD diss., University College London, 1998), 240-41.

22 Ibid., 228.

23 For the buildings, see Rahtz et al., Cadbury Congresbury, 230-37.

24 Rachel Pope, “Roundhouses: Three Thousand Years of Prehistoric Design,” Current Archaeology
222 (2008): 14-21. For a discussion of the deskilling of the population in fifth-century Britain,
see Fleming, “Recycling in Britain after the Fall of Rome’s Metal Economy” Past and Present 217
(2012): 3-45.

25 Campbell, Continental and Mediterranean Imports, 14-26, 128.

26 Ibid., 122-28, 132.

27 Roger David Penhallurick, Tin in Antiquity: Its Mining and Trade throughout the Ancient World
with Particular Reference to Cornwall (London: Institute of Metals, 1986), 237. Byzantine interest
in sources of tin along the Atlantic seaboard is witnessed by a late sixth-century Byzantine coin
found in an early medieval tin mine at Abbaretz in Brittany (Leon Fleuriot and Pierre-Roland
Giot, “Early Brittany,” Antiquity 51 [1977]: 114; Campbell, Continental and Mediterranean Im-
ports, 76).

28 Rahtz et al., Cadbury Congresbury, 221 , 241-42; Campbell, Continental and Mediterranean Im-
ports, 103.

29 Keith J. Fitzpatrick-Matthews and Gilbert R. Burleigh, eds., Excavations at Baldock 1978-1994:
Fieldwork by G. R. Burleigh (Letchworth Garden City: North Hertfordshire District Council and
North Hertfordshire Archaeological Society, 2010), 15-16, 37-43.

30 For detailed information on this cemetery and its finds, see Fitzpatrick-Matthews and Burleigh,
Excavations at Baldock 1978-1994, Gilbert R. Burleigh and Mark Sterns, “Baldock Roman Burial
and Burial Practice,” in Archive Report, North Hertfordshire Museums (1992) (hereafter referred
to as “Baldock Archive Report”); Gilbert R. Burleigh and Keith J. Fitzpatrick-Matthews, Excava-
tions at Baldock, Hertfordshire, 1978-1994: Vol. 1, An Iron Age and Romano -British Cemetery at
Wallington Road, North Hertfordshire Museums Archaeology Monograph 1 (2010): 14-21 and
Appendix 2; Fitzpatrick-Matthews, “Collapse, Change or Continuity? Exploring the Three C’s in
Sub-Roman Britain,” in TRAC 2009: Proceedings of the 19th Annual Theoretical Roman Archaeolo-
gy Conference, Michigan and Southampton 2009, ed. Alison Moore et al. (Oxford: Oxbow Books,
2010), 135-49; Fitzpatrick-Matthews, “Defining Fifth-Century Ceramics in North Hertford-
shire,” unpublished paper presented at the Roman Pottery in the Fifth-Century AD Day-Con-
ference (Newcastle, 2012); and Burleigh and Fitzpatrick-Matthews, Draft Catalogue of Burials in
the California Late Roman Cemetery (forthcoming). I am grateful to Keith Fitzpatrick-Matthews
for allowing me to see ceramics taken from the California cemetery, and for generously sharing
with me a mountain of unpublished material on Baldock.

31 Fitzpatrick-Matthews and Burleigh, Excavations at Baldock 1978-1994, 45.

32 For a general discussion of burial in Roman Britain, see Robert Philpott, Burial Practice in Ro-

191

Robin Fleming

man Britain: A Survey of Grave Treatment and Furnishing AD 43-410 (Oxford: British Archae-
ological Reports, 1991). For a comparison of burial traditions in different regions, see Cooke,
“Late Roman Burial Rites.” For a brief summary of burial practices in the Baldock cemeteries, see
Gilbert R. Burleigh, “Some Aspects of Burial Types in the Cemeteries of the Romano-British Set-
tlement at Baldock,” in Romerzeitliche Grdber als Quellen zu Religion, Bevolkerungsstruktur und
Sozialgeschichte (Mainz: Institute fur Vor- und Frtihgeschichte der Johannes Gutenberg-Univer-
sitat, 1993), 41-49.

33 For examples of late Roman burials at California with smashed pots, see Burleigh and Fitzpat-
rick-Matthews, Draft Catalogue of Burials, nos. 642, 1005; for a late Roman burial with fowl, no.
1 198; for late Roman coffined burials, nos. 632, 642.

34 Fleming, “Recycling in Britain,” 3-45.

35 These people may have used old Roman pots in their daily lives as well, but if they did, we cannot
see them, because any fourth-century sherds from pots, broken while in use in the fifth century,
would simply appear to archaeologists as residual.

36 For examples of fifth-century coffined burials, see “Baldock Archive Report,” nos. 1318, 1422,
and 3632; and Burleigh and Fitzpatrick- Matthews, Draft Catalogue of Burials, 1413. For post-Ro-
man examples of coffins fastened with wooden dowels, see Burleigh and Fitzpatrick-Matthews,
Draft Catalogue of Burials, nos. 1175, 1361. For examples of fifth-century hobnail-boot burials,
see “Baldock Archive Report,” nos. 1132, 1413, 1422 and Burleigh and Fitzpatrick-Matthews,
Draft Catalogue of Burials, no. 1267. For an example of fifth-century decapitation burials, see
“Baldock Archive Report,” no. 1318, and Burleigh and Fitzpatrick-Matthews, Draft Catalogue of
Burials, no. 643.

37 This pottery can be found at Museums Resource Centre, Hitchin, Herts. They are BAL 1.1132
and BAL 1.3632.

38 Mill Green Museum, Hatfield, Herts, HAT 165.42.190.

39 “Baldock Archive Report,” no. 1 187.

40 Museums Resource Centre, Hitchin, Herts, BAL 1.1 193; Mill Green Museum and Mill, Hatfield,
Herts, Box 72, HAT 165.1153.70.9. 1 am grateful to Julie Godden who made it possible for me to
examine the grave goods excavated from the Welwyn Hall cemetery at the Mill Green Museum
and Mill.

41 Tom McDonald, “Welwyn Hall, Welwyn, Hertfordshire: An Archaeological Excavation,” Hert-
fordshire Archaeological Trust, Report no. 138 (1995, unpublished), 10; Tom McDonald and
Andrew Pearson, “Excavations at Welwyn Hall, Welwyn, Hertfordshire,” Archaeological Solu-
tions Ltd., Research Archive Report (2012, unpublished), 14-30. 1 am grateful to Isobel Thomp-
son for sending me a copy of this report.

42 Museums Resource Centre, Hitchin, Herts, BAL 1.3632.

43 For a detailed discussion of the post-Roman fabrics at Baldock, see Fitzpatrick-Matthews, “De-
fining Fifth-Century Ceramics.” He describes the post-Roman pottery from Baldock as follows:
“In most cases, the vessels were handmade but finished on a turntable, although one type (per-
haps the latest) lacked the wheel finish. [ . . . ] Where forms can be recognised, they are late Roman
or, in at least one case, early medieval in character.”

44 David Went and Gilbert Burleigh, “An Archaeological Assessment on the Route of the Humber-
side to Buncefield Pipeline, Pirton, Hertfordshire,” North Hertfordshire District Council, De-

192

Struggling to Be Roman in a Former Roman Province

partment of Engineering and Leisure, Field Archaeology Section (1990, unpublished), 8; Keith
J. Fitzpatrick-Matthews, “Archaeological Data, Subcultures and Social Dynamics,” Antiquity 69
(1995): 590 and “Collapse, Change or Continuity,” 141 and fig. 6.

45 They collected these wares almost exclusively, rather than the much more ubiquitous Roman
coarse wares and large storage jars, which make up the bulk of pottery finds on late Roman
sites (Paul Booth, “Roman Pottery” in Excavations at Radley Barrow Hills, Radley, Oxfordshire,
Volume 2: The Romano -British Cemetery and Anglo-Saxon Settlement, ed. Richard Chambers
and Ellen McAdam [Oxford: Oxford University School of Archaeology, 2007], 36-37; Roberta
Tomber and John Dore, The National Roman Fabric Reference Collection: A Handbook [London:
Museum of London Archaeology, 1998], 176 and plate 147). At Cadbury Congresbury a variety
of types of pots — gray wares, black wares, red wares, color-coats, and mortaria were all repre-
sented (Rahtz et al., Cadbury Congresbury, 148-51).

46 Chambers and McAdam, Excavations at Radley Barrow Hills, 7.

47 Paul Booth and Grace Edgeley-Long, “Prehistoric Settlement and Roman Pottery Production at
Blackbird Leys, Oxford,” Oxoniensia 68 (2003): 258-61.

48 Paul Booth, Angela Boyle, and Graham D. Keevill, “A Romano-British Kiln Site at Lower Farm,
Nuneham Courtenay, and Other Sites on the Didcot to Oxford and Wootton to Abingdon Water
Mains, Oxfordshire,” Oxoniensia 58 (1993): 210.

49 Chambers and McAdams, Excavations at Radley Barrow Hills, 29-31.

50 Aside from coins, in Oxfordshire the only ubiquitous grave good in late Roman cemeteries is
pottery, generally drinking vessels, especially beakers of Oxfordshire color-coated ware (Paul
Booth, “Late Roman Cemeteries in Oxfordshire: A Review,” Oxoniensia 66 [2001]: 34).

51 Paul Booth, Jeremy Evans, and Jonathan Hiller, Excavations in the Extramural Settlement of
Roman Alchester, Oxfordshire, 1991 (Oxford: Oxford Archaeological Unit for English Heritage,
2002), 103, 377 and fig. 7.57.

52 Booth, “Roman Pottery,” 37-38.

53 The bases of footed bowls were preferred at Barrow Hills, as well as at other nearby communities
where Roman pot bases were being modified, including Sutton Courtenay and Audlett Drive
(John Moore, “Excavations at Oxford Science Park, Littlemore, Oxford,” Oxoniensia 66 [2001]:
189). At Oxford Science Park, bowls, dishes, mortaria, and flagons were being collected (ibid.,
186, 188).

54 Chambers and McAdams, Excavations at Radley Barrow Hills, 257.

55 Reworked, mostly color-coated pot bases have also been found on early medieval sites in Bed-
fordshire, Buckinghamshire, Cambridgeshire, Essex, Northamptonshire, Norfolk, and Oxford-
shire (C. L. Matthews and Sonia Chadwick Hawkes, “Early Saxon Settlements and Burials on
Puddlehill, near Dunstable, Bedfordshire,” Anglo-Saxon Studies in Archaeology and History 4
[1985]: 67; Michael Farley, “Saxon and Medieval Walton, Aylesbury, Excavations 1973-4,” Re-
cords of Buckinghamshire 20 [1976]: 164-65; P. T. Marney and Robert John Williams, “Roman
Pottery from Saxon Contexts at Pennyland,” in Pennyland and Hartigans: Two Iron Age and Sax-
on Sites in Milton Keynes, ed. Robert John Williams [Aylesbury: Buckingham Archaeological
Society, 1993], 243-45; Catriona Gibson with J. Murray, “An Anglo-Saxon Settlement at God-
manchester, Cambridgeshire,” Anglo-Saxon Studies in Archaeology and History 12 [2003]: 156;
Paul J. Drury and Nicholas Wickenden, “An Early Saxon Settlement within the Romano-British

193

Robin Fleming

Small Town at Heybridge,” Medieval Archaeology 26 [1982]: 22-23; Donald F. Mackreth, “Orton
Hall Farm: A Roman and Early Anglo-Saxon Farmstead,” East Anglian Archaeology 76 [1996]:
165, 189-90).

56 For a general discussion of these brooches, see Tania M. Dickinson, “Early Saxon Saucer Brooch-
es: A Preliminary Overview,” Anglo-Saxon Studies in Archaeology and History 6 (1993): 11-44.

57 Tania M. Dickinson, “Material Culture as Social Expression: The Case of Saxon Saucer Brooches
with Running Spiral Decorations,” Studien zur Sachsenforschung 7 (1991): 60.

58 Tania M. Dickinson, “Ornament Variation in Pairs of Cast Saucer Brooches: A Case Study from
the Upper Thames Region,” in Aspects of Production and Style in Dark Age Metalwork: Selected
Papers Given to the British Museum Seminar on Jewellery, AD 500-600, ed. Leslie Webster (Lon-
don: British Museum, 1982), 34-35.

59 Ibid., 23, 30, and table 2. It has previously been suggested that the templates for some, especially
those with a convex profile, were made on lathes, and some, perhaps, from rounds of leather
(Dickinson, “Discussion,” in Excavations at Mucking, Volume 3: Anglo-Saxon Cemeteries, ed.
Sue Hirst and Dido Clark [London: Museum of London Archaeology, 2009], ii, 482; Dickinson,
“Translating Animal Art: Style I and Anglo-Saxon Cast Saucer Brooches,” Hikuin 29 [2003]:
177).

60 Lor the basic profiles of saucer brooches, see Arthur MacGregor and Ellen Bolick, A Summary
Catalogue of the Anglo-Saxon Collections (Non-Ferrous Metals) (Oxford: Ashmolean Museum
Publications, 1993), 42.

194

iiMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMii

Displaying Roman Britain in the British Museum
Nancy Netzer

Between 43 CE, when the emperor Claudius invaded Britain, and 411 CE when the intrud-
ers withdrew from the island, the Roman army imposed on the existing Iron Age culture
of Britons. Artifacts from that 368-year period continue to be mined by scholars, in con-
junction with a more limited number of ancient texts by authors like Julius Caesar, Tacitus,
and Cassius Dio that describe ancient Britons and the Roman occupation of their land,
to piece together the story of daily life, politics, warfare, and the built environment in the
province of Britannia. This remote province lay on the empires western edge, outside the
established circle of Mediterranean trade. The question of how the culture of the indige-
nous Celtic-speaking peoples melded with the Roman to shape customs and material goods
unique within the empire has yet to be fully explored. The most prominent and geograph-
ically diverse assemblage of Britannia’s material evidence, and thus one of the key sources
for pursuing this inquiry, is found, not surprisingly, in the British Museum, the country’s
largest national repository, in which the glory of the collection redounds to the state.1

Currently, most of the Romano-British2 artifacts are housed in the Museum’s Room 49
(fig. 13.1) within a building that enshrines a mere 8 million objects around which the insti-
tution weaves a narrative from an Anglocentric perspective in which Roman Britain plays
a minor role.3 The following necessarily streamlined review of the growth of the relevant
collections and their presentation over the Museum’s more than 2 50 -year history reveals
that their evolution mirrors class struggles within British society and international rivalries
as well as the maturing of the academic disciplines of archaeology and art history, changes
in scholars’ assessments of Britannia’s role in the Roman Empire, and public perceptions of
how the Roman Empire serves as a model for Britain’s emerging empire. The stories that
the current installation tells are many and have evolved considerably since the first Roma-
no-British works entered the collection in the eighteenth century.

Romano-British Artifacts in the British Museum, 1753-1900

The British Museum began life in 1753 as a latter day “cabinet of curiosities” founded upon
the collection of about 71,000 objects assembled by the physician Sir Hans Sloane.4 Among
them were at least two-dozen modest Romano-British specimens, including fragments
of mosaic pavements found on the site of St. Paul’s Cathedral,5 ceramics,6 glass,7 steatite,8
and small metalwork9 of the type represented by Plates 62-65. 10 Over the course of the
nineteenth century, the institution mutated into a museum of antiquities and works of art.

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Nancy Netzer

Acquisition and installation of its classical collections played a
key role in shaping this transformation and in presenting the
development of art in antiquity as an evolutionary progression,
a “chain of art” in which the rise and fall of civilization could
be charted link by link.11 By the mid- nineteenth century, the
British Museum had secured, largely through the initiative of
the country’s foreign-based diplomats and aided by the nations
navy in the Mediterranean, a large and celebrated collection of
classical art, the primary emphasis of which was marble sculp-
ture.12 Among this assemblage, works of art from Greece were
viewed as the supreme accomplishments, while those from
Rome, many copies of Greek originals, were regarded as em-
bodying the inescapable decline of civilization.

The lions share of the British Museum’s Roman holdings
in the nineteenth century was purchased from the estate of
Charles Townley (1737-1805). Educated at the Jesuit Douai
College, Townley began collecting antiquities on his first trip
to Italy in 1768. He continued buying robustly and piecemeal,
largely from his home in England through a number of Brit-
ish dealers in Italy. Eventually he opened his London house,
packed with antiquities, as a private museum and gathering
place for connoisseurs and antiquarians interested in the classical world.13

When Townley s Roman marbles reached the British Museum in 1808, they were dis-
played in a series of rooms in an addition to Montagu House that had been conceived
to show off the celebrated Egyptian collection. Indeed, monumental Egyptian sculpture,
viewed at the time as a less sophisticated precursor to that produced by the Greeks, filled
the addition’s principal gallery; smaller rooms held Townley’s marbles, so-called Campana
terracotta reliefs and Roman funerary monuments. The latter sat in niches reminiscent
of columbaria in Roman catacombs. Creating such a mise-en-scene had its roots in eigh-
teenth-century installations and became a preferred mode of display for funerary artifacts
in the early nineteenth century.14 From the outset the installation of the Townley marbles
was intended to convey, subliminally, the country’s power by suggesting analogies between
the burgeoning British Empire and the esteemed Roman.15

Few Romano-British objects found their way into the British Museum during its early
years and none of them seems to have been integrated into the Townley display. In 1774,
Hugh Smithson, the first Duke of Northumberland, presented the young institution with an
unadorned third-century altar found at the site of the Roman military base at Corbridge. Its
significance lay in its Greek inscription attesting to the presence of a priestess of an eastern
cult in Britain.16 At the time, general opinion maintained that Britain’s artistic products
under the Romans were inferior to those made on the Continent, just as the nation’s present
state of art was regarded as lacking the excellence of its Continental counterparts. Simply
put, in the eighteenth century and during times of great international rivalry in the wake of
the Napoleonic Wars, the British climate and character were denounced as having destined
the country to the status of “cultural backwater.”17 On the whole, the province of Britannia
was viewed as a remote military outpost. It seemed logical that the Museum’s trustees would
not choose to sully the displays with such provincial material. Rather, they focused on com-
peting with national museums across Europe to acquire the types of Greek and non-provin-
cial Roman antiquities that had for centuries been markers of imperial success and status.

Trustee priorities seem not to have been challenged by some impressive Roman arti-
facts that had been unearthed in Britain as early as the eighteenth century. For example,
an enameled cup from a villa at Rudge in Wiltshire, and a splendid silver serving platter

13.1. Room 49, “Roman Britain” in the British
Museum as seen from Room 50, “Britain and
Europe 800 BC-AD 43."

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Displaying Roman Britain in the British Museum

( lanx ) decorated in relief with gods and goddesses from Corbridge had been excavated
in 1725 and 1735 respectively. Although they remained in the Duke of Northumberland’s
collections at Alnwick Castle, their quality was known from drawings and engravings in
early publications.18 Indeed the Rudge Cup, a souvenir, beautifully decorated in enamel and
probably made to commemorate a high ranking officer’s visit to five forts at Hadrians Wall,
is deemed so important now that it appears in replica in Room 49 s current installation.19
There, it has been installed to provide context for more recent finds of comparably deco-
rated cups from Braughing and Staffordshire.20 The Corbridge Lanx finally acquired in 1993
now commands a prominent position in Room 49 (fig. 13.2).

Among the British Museum’s earliest nineteenth-century gifts of Romano -British mate-
rial were a limestone relief unearthed at Great Chesterford representing the gods of the
week21 and a square ornamental floor mosaic from the third century found during excava-
tions on the site of the Bank of England (1806). 22 By 1853 the mosaic had clearly garnered
enough attention through its display in the Museum to inspire the Copeland & Garrett
factory to adopt its design for a tile.23

In 1808 another, more significant, Romano -British mosaic joined the collection. This
was a section of the great fourth- century floor depicting Orpheus charming the world
with his lyre from a Roman villa origi-
nally discovered in 1695 at Woodchester
in Gloucestershire.24 The site was rediscov-
ered in 1793 and recorded in detail by the
engraver and one of the first archaeologist/
antiquarians of Roman Britain, Samuel
Lysons (1763- 1819). 25 Although he was
president of the Society of Antiquaries, the
principal repository for British antiquities at
the time, Lysons chose to present the work
to the British Museum in the same year that
Townley’s collection of classical marbles,
large bronzes, and terracottas made its way
to the institution. One might speculate that
the impressive quality (and size and fame of
the original) of the Woodchester pavement
inspired him to offer it as an aesthetic equiv-
alent to Townley’s Italian antiquities.

Other fragments of fourth-century mosaics showing a sea god and Orpheus (a popular
theme in Britannia) from a large villa in Withington followed in 181226 along with three
stone altars carved with standing gods that had been excavated at Kings Stanley in 1781. 27
A remarkable group of eight third-century bronze statuettes of Roman gods unearthed at
Southbroom in the early eighteenth century and rendered in the indigenous style, thereby
epitomizing the complex blending of cultures, came into the collection in 1811. 28 In 1813
the Earl of Ashburnham donated a fine first-century bronze statuette of Nero (fig. 13.3) with
silver and copper plating said to have been found at Barking Hall in Suffolk.29 A few other
Romano-British early arrivals to the Museum’s collection came in 1814 with the second
purchase of smaller antiquities from Charles Townley’s estate. Among the coins, engraved
gems, and pottery was a military hoard from the late first or early second century discov-
ered in 1796 at the site of a Roman fort at Ribchester in Lancashire. The prize in this lot, a
two-piece visor helmet, was the subject of Townley’s sole publication.30

Around this time, Romano-British artifacts had begun to attract attention with the
publication of four volumes between 1813 and 1817 by Lysons and Richard Smirke enti-
tled Reliquiae Britannico-Romanae with 156 engravings of works found in Britain. Despite

13.2. Case with Corbridge Lanx and Mileham silver dish.

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Nancy Netzer

the absence of an active acquisition pol-
icy in this area, significant Romano-Brit-
ish donations trickled into the Museums
collection over the next three decades.
In 1824 the classical scholar and collec-
tor Richard Payne Knight (1750-1824)
bequeathed the treasure of highly deco-
rated silver vessels discovered at Caphea-
ton, Northumberland, in 174731 as well as
a very fine bronze oil flask in the shape
of a sleeping child slave found at Aid-
borough.32 A large square silver dish of
fourth-century date entered the collection
shortly after it was excavated at Mileham
in Norfolk in 1839 (fig. 13. 2). 33 In 1836 the
Reverend George Rashleigh presented the
Museum with a child’s sarcophagus and
an assortment of metal objects, glass ves-
sels, and leather shoes excavated in 1801 at Southfleet in Kent.34 Part of a second-century
mosaic pavement from Threadneedle Street in London arrived in 1841. 35 And, one of the
great trophies, an over-life- size bronze head of Hadrian (fig. 13.3) dredged from the Thames
in 1834 entered the collection in 1848. 36

Several of these works seem to have been displayed in various places within the Museum,
including an “ethnographical room” where they kept company with Mexican, Hindu,
Islamic, and Chinese artifacts.37 None of the Romano -British objects, however, seems to
have impressed the German art historian Gustav Waagen (1794-1868) when he catalogued
the “treasures of art” in Great Britain in 1835 and, again, in 1850. Going room by room
through the British Museum, Waagen devotes several pages to describing the Townley mar-
bles and other antiquities including examples from medieval Britain, and virtually ignores
the Romano-British collection.38 In 1850 the Museum’s Keeper of Antiquities since 1826,
Edward Hawkins (1780-1867), purchased a hoard of first- and second- century Roman gold
and silver jewelry and other objects from a pagan shrine, which had been unearthed pre-
sumably near Backworth by Hadrian’s Wall in about 181 1. 39 At the time, however, Hawkins
viewed these Romano-British artifacts as “isolated” and “amusing” specimens in need of
others for comparison in order to create an instructive display like that of Danish antiqui-
ties installed in the Danish National Collection in Copenhagen more than three decades
earlier.40

With the establishment of the British Archaeological Association in 1843, local excava-
tions throughout the country attracted popular interest, encouraging amateurs as well as
the professional members of the Archaeological Institute, founded in 1845, to pressure the
British Museum to stop neglecting British antiquities and, instead, to serve as their reposi-
tory.41 Thus, when Hawkins appointed the archaeologist and collector Augustus Wollaston
Franks (1826-97) in 1851 to a new post as assistant in the Department of Antiquities, the
latter’s mandate was to augment its British collections and establish a gallery for British
antiquities. Franks’s task would not be easy as these materials still garnered little interest
among the trustees and academics in general. In his handbook of antiquities in the British
Museum of 1851, William Sandys Vaux deemed the newly installed gallery with “Anglo-Ro-
man” objects “too insufficiently arranged to admit of classification and description.”42 In the
same year, British archaeology went unrepresented in the Great Exhibition at the Crystal
Palace.43

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Displaying Roman Britain in the British Museum

At the same time, Franks began by adding works like a Roman sarcophagus found at
Binstead in Hampshire, complete with its contents,44 another decorated sarcophagus of a
boy,45 a local tombstone from Blackfriars with a carved head of the deceased,46 fourth-cen-
tury pewter tableware from a hoard found at Icklingham,47 and recently discovered frag-
ments of a fourth-century floor mosaic from a villa at Abbots Ann.48 In 1852 he received
a large inscribed tombstone of one Aulus Alfidius born in Athens49 and pieces of a monu-
mental tomb50 (fig. 13.4) reused in a fourth- century bastion of Londons Roman town wall,
which with the subsequent discovery of more fragments, reconstruction, and interpretation
of the inscription would turn out to be of great significance.

By 1855 some of the large stone monuments and mosaics (cropped to squares of similar
size and hung in a line to decorate empty space between the sculptures and the high ceil-
ing) from Britannia kept company with Townley’s marbles in the Museums long gallery to
the west of the front hall.51 The British sculptures were segregated on the opposite side of
the room below windows that lighted their Mediterranean counterparts on the other side.
There were additional local mosaics hung in the northeast staircase and 37 cases of Roma-
no-British artifacts must have occupied a large portion of a “British and Medieval Room.”52
A few years later, Franks made his largest purchase of Romano-British material, which still
forms the core of the Museum’s collection from this period.

Since about 1835, the pharmacist and
amateur archaeologist Charles Roach
Smith (1807-90) had been recording,
describing, and collecting Roman and
medieval objects uncovered during com-
mercial excavations for wider streets,
buildings, railways, bridges, sewers, and
water pipes as part of Londons redevel-
opment in the first half of the nineteenth
century. Rescuing relics of the past, he
often purchased artifacts, most of little
artistic merit, directly from workmen
at the site. By 1855 he had amassed sev-
eral thousand Romano-British objects,
primarily metalwork, sculpture, pottery,
and coins, which he offered to the British
Museum for purchase. After much debate
in the House of Commons and haggling
over price, the Trustees bought the collection in 1856. 53

Franks appreciated both historical and aesthetic values among the objects from Roach
Smith. Displaying national pride, he singles out one of the ornamental plaques as “probably
the finest enamel of the Roman period now preserved.”54 The purchase also brought him
a bronze hand55 (fig. 13.3) that may have been from the colossal statue of Hadrian whose
head came to the Museum eight years earlier. With the addition of Roach Smiths collection,
Franks now had a critical assemblage of Romano-British objects around which to build an
independent department and to begin shaping a visual narrative, especially concerning the
activities of the Roman army throughout the country and buildings and provincial life in
London in particular.

The Museum formally separated Romano-British antiquities from the Greek and Roman
in 1860 when they appointed Franks keeper of British, medieval, and ethnographic collec-
tions.56 Such a separation is not surprising, especially as much of the Romano-British mate-
rial was late antique and therefore outside the foci of the Museums Roman collections from
the Mediterranean. Perhaps more importantly, the division between those pursuing inter-

13.4. Tomb of Caius Julius Alpinus Classicanus.

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Nancy Netzer

ests in the archaeology of Greece and Rome and that of Britain had deep roots embedded in
class distinctions dating back to, at least, the seventeenth century. Having read the classics
in Greek and Latin, rich aristocrats, the likes of Townley and Smithson, traveled to Italy on
the Grand Tour where they purchased antiquities to decorate their London townhouses
and country villas to reflect the splendor of their antique counterparts. They funded lavish
catalogues of their collections. Without the requisite means to travel abroad, middle-class,
“lesser” men, like Roach Smith, were forced to pursue their passion for archaeology in land
close to home. Thus, clergymen, academics, pharmacists, doctors, gardeners, and former
military officers collected Romano-British antiquities in more modest homes where display
space was limited. With more archaeological and historical rather than artistic interest,
they focused on gathering the trappings of daily life in towns and suburban villas and on
apparatus of the military in an effort to document how the Romans administered an empire
similar to their own.57 Until his retirement in 1896, Franks expanded Romano-British hold-
ings, encouraging donations and buying works from these local antiquaries. An outlier in
this group would be Queen Victoria, who in 1866 donated a grave box made of tiles found
at Windsor.58 Franks purchased many works personally and gave them to the Museum,
including an outstanding assemblage of bronze statuettes now displayed together with a
tribute to him in Room 49 (fig. 13.3).

The Romano-British Collection in the Twentieth Century

In 1899 much of the Romano-British collection was confined to storage to make room for
the Waddesdon Bequest.59 Some works remained on view in cases in the Central Saloon
on the upper floor, but it was not until after the First World War in 1918 that a new “Room
of Roman Britain” opened in renovated space at the top of the main staircase.60 Many of
the larger stone monuments and mosaics remained downstairs in the Roman gallery61 and
some of the latter still hung in the northeast staircase. By this time the collection had a new
keeper, O. M. Dalton, who oversaw the writing of a guidebook to the new installation by his
deputy Reginald Smith. The 136-page Guide to the Antiquities of Roman Britain in the De-
partment of British and Mediaeval Antiquities, published in 1922 (the equivalent of modern
wall text, extended labels, and audio guide in one) describes the contents of 57, seemingly
densely packed, cases in the new gallery on the upper floor as well as the Romano-British
stone monuments and mosaics downstairs and on the staircase. It offers a glimpse at how
the collections were laid out, viewed, and interpreted by their keepers.62 Some grave groups
were kept together in their own cases, citing their importance as aids to establishing dates
for contemporaneous objects. Several cases and a shelf along the wall were dedicated to
artifacts of burial; together they constructed a story of gradual transition from cremation
to inhumation and from pagan to Christian religious beliefs.63 One might suspect that this
emphasis on death in the installation reflects a current national preoccupation after the war
that took so many British lives.

For the most part, however, objects were grouped in the traditional manner, by type.
Artifacts like sculpture, jewelry, glass, Samian ware, pottery, building materials, milestones,
and stamped ingots were clustered, often configured in a proposed chronological sequence,
to tell their respective accounts of technique, workshop locations, importation, and stylistic
development. For example, lead pigs were arranged in chronological order according to
their inscriptions to flesh out the story of Roman mining in Britain.64 Fragments of wall
paintings and mosaics served as evidence for envisioning interior decorative schemes in
Britannia’s villas and houses.65 The guidebooks text emphasizes context for each find and
the reproduction and decipherment of inscriptions. The latter, especially, enhance the pic-
ture of military organization. A proposed development of brooches was carefully chroni-

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Displaying Roman Britain in the British Museum

cled.66 And, arms and armor merited detailed drawings and generous descriptions in the
guide, calling attention to any native “Keltic” characteristics.67

That the outstanding statuette of Nero (fig. 13.3) serves as the books frontispiece belies
the focus of its text (and the installation) on the objects’ archaeological context and his-
torical significance. Such emphasis is not surprising. Superseding antiquarian study of the
material in the eighteenth century, scientific archaeology had emerged by the mid-nine-
teenth century. About the same time, art history, concerned with issues of style, aesthetic
value, and iconography, began to take shape as an academic discipline, but archaeology
always seems to have had the upper hand and to have commanded more respect in the Brit-
ish academy. Boundaries between the two fields of inquiry in organizing and interpreting
museum collections have never been clearly drawn.68

Notwithstanding the inclusion of a number of artistically fine works in the Roma-
no-British collection, the guides lengthy introduction relies principally on ancient texts,
chiefly Tacitus, to rehearse the history of the Romans in Britain. The author makes scant
reference to the collections artifacts, specifically only to coins and inscriptions. The for-
mer serve to amplify notions of cultural and stylistic progress engendered through contact
with the Romans; the latter are used to endorse acceptance of Roman deities and their
identification with native gods and heroes, the emperor s divinity, and personified virtues.69
Inscriptions on tombstones and military diplomas are mined for details concerning distant
origins of the troops stationed in Britannia, an explicable preoccupation in 1922 when the
British held the largest empire in history and for an author declaring: “the Roman history
of Britain is mainly military.”70

Two passages epitomize how the keepers viewed the collection and the messages it prof-
fered:

The Romans left little of permanent value behind them in this country. Their
system of government, their laws and institutions, religion, language and
writing, science and learning were all but ruined in the next two centuries,
and had to be slowly and painfully re-introduced for the benefit of our An-
glo-Saxon forefathers. Compared with the continent, the material relics of
their occupation in Britain are meagre and unattractive.71

What happened to Early British art can only be imagined. It had nothing
in common with the somewhat debased classicism of the provinces, but, in
competition with it, did not become extinct. Traces revealing its master of
curve [i.e., Celtic La Tene motifs] can be detected here and there. [. . .] Under
the chilling influence of Rome, native talent declined and only blossomed
again when its roots were transferred to the free and sympathetic soil of
Ireland. [. . .] The human figure was never a strong point with the Keltic
artist, but such work as the stone head from Towcester, Northants, [fig. 13.5]
must be attributed rather to a clumsy pupil of the Roman school than to a
degenerate British craftsman.72

This mindset leaves an imprint on descriptions of even the most finely executed objects. For
example, the Roman armor of the statuette of Nero mentioned above is highlighted while
its style is dismissed as “provincial rather than purely classical” and “probably Gaulish.”73
Displayed in the same case was the colossal bronze head of Hadrian, which is dismissed
as “well-modeled and executed” but “not quite successful as a portrait.”74 In evaluating a
superior statuette of Mars with an elaborate inscription indicating its local production, the
author opts to label it “of unusual quality for Britain”75 rather than see it as a signal that at-
tribution criteria require rethinking. The elaborate silver handles of the Capheaton treasure

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Nancy Netzer

are assigned to either Egypt or Gaul.76 And, the artistic value of the mosaic pavements is for
the most part dismissed as “owing to the want of variety and quality in the raw material”
never reaching “a high level.” Townley s fragment from the Woodchester villa is set apart,
however, as of “more than ordinary merit.”77 Only local enamelwork garners praise. The
plaque singled out by Franks at the time of its acquisition is distinguished as the most im-
portant enamel in the collection.78 The prevailing message conveyed by the 1918 installation
seems to have been that the material evidence of Roman Britain, especially artifacts bearing
inscriptions, serves as a handmaiden to classical textual accounts of the period and that
“Romano-British art” might well be regarded as an oxymoron.

Martin Henig has pointed out that after 1961 such denigration and dismissal of Roma-
no-British art should have come to an end.79 That year, in a groundbreaking exhibition, the
classical archaeologist Jocelyn Toynbee selected, displayed, and catalogued nearly 200 of the
finest works of “art” from Roman Britain in collections throughout the country.80 At least a
dozen came from the British Museum, including a few early discoveries, like the Ribchester
Helmet,81 Corbridge Lanx82 (fig. 13.2), silver skillets from the Capheaton and Backworth trea-
sures,83 a bronze lamp in the form of a sleeping child,84 and the statuette of Mars, whose high

quality confounded the author of the 1922 guide.85 Toynbee
gets around the problem presented by the latter by propos-
ing a “provincial, probably Gaulish” immigrant craftsman
working in Britain. In general, she resists attributing any
work of high artistic merit to British craftsmen, establishing
instead an aesthetic hierarchy in assigning origin. The very
finest examples like the Corbridge Lanx she sees as imports
from the Mediterranean by high-ranking Roman officials.
In this category, she also places the second- century mar-
ble bust from Lullingstone villa86 and the most splendid of
the fourth-century decorated silver vessels, the large round
dish and several small dishes and platters from the treasure
unearthed at Mildenhall in the early 1940s. For the Milden-
hall pieces, she even goes so far as to propose the possibility
of a “Roman studio.”87

Fine works of her second tier, the Backworth and
Capheaton examples, and the scalloped bowls from the
Mildenhall hoard she attributes to Gaulish craftsmen. A
bronze head of Claudius found in the River Aide in Suffolk,
she assigns to a “well-trained Gaulish artist who had never
seen the Emperor in the flesh.”88 Similarly, a bronze head
of a Celtic god from a hoard found at Felmingham Hall
appears “provincial, perhaps Gaulish.”89 The bronze lamp
of a sleeping child betrays the “sensitive hand of a gifted continental artist.” To her mind,
the painter of the well- executed second- century floral painted frieze from a house in Ver-
ulamium (St. Albans), excavated in 1956 and a unique example from Roman Britain, must
have “come from abroad.”90

Only the colossal stone head of the underworld goddess from Towcester (fig. 13.5),
maligned in the 1922 guide and described by Toynbee as having a “fierce, quasi-barbaric
quality”91 and the crown and diadem from the Hockwold temple treasure with “crudely
drawn”92 repousse figures are deemed assignable to local craftsmen. For an “unpretentious,
homely” bronze statuette of a plowman with oxen, she acknowledges a liminal position
“worked with taste and sincerity, perhaps in Gaul, if not actually in Britain.”93 These works
and several spectacular treasures unearthed in more recent decades have contributed to
redressing some balance between art historical and archaeological narratives in Room 49,

13.5. Limestone head of an underworld goddess
from Towcester, Northamptonshire.

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Displaying Roman Britain in the British Museum

which unites nearly all of the Museums Romano -British holdings, including the monu-
mental stonework and mosaics. Room 49, titled simply “Roman Britain” without classifying
its contents, reshuffles some artifacts, which by this time have emerged victorious from
their struggle within the institution to achieve status as valued national patrimony.

Roaming in the Province of Britannia: Room 49 Today

Entering the British Museum through the grand neoclassical portal on Great Russell Street,
the visitor imbibes the supreme importance of the classical tradition. This was the scenario
scripted by the buildings trustee commissioners in the mid- nineteenth century. Educated
in Greek and Latin and ancient history, these aristocratic men had admired ancient edific-
es on their Grand Tours. For them the Roman Empire brought civilization to the native,
barbaric Britons. It is not unexpected then that many of the imposing rooms on the main
floor have always been dedicated to Greek and Roman antiquities, many of them monu-
mental sculptures, with the grandest space allocated to the Parthenon marbles. Nor does
it surprise, given the historical context, that Romano -British antiquities are located on the
“upper” floor, on the opposite side of the building.94 Echoing the distance between Britan-
nia and Rome, the gallery is about as far as possible from those housing the products of
the imperial capital. Moreover, the method of display, interpretive strategies, and messages
imparted in Room 49 (fig. 13.1), which was last reinstalled in the 1990s, are equally distant
from the commodious presentation of Roman marbles as revered works of art downstairs.
Formal installation principles prizing balance, symmetry, and the creation of grand vistas
for key objects, embraced downstairs, are here given little regard in favor of a stronger in-
structional narrative.

Sandwiched between Room 50, “Britain and Europe 800 BC-AD 43,” and Room 41,
“Sutton Hoo and Europe, AD 300-1100,” Room 49 is the largest and most densely packed
in the enfilade lining the east side of the building. Room 50 trumpets the skill and wealth
of the large indigenous British societies that the Romans were to encounter with impressive
objects like the Battersea Shield95 and the Great Tore from Snettisham96 decorated with
Celtic curvilinear motifs.

Whether the visitor enters “Roman Britain” from medieval Europe to look back in
time at a more restricted geographic area or from the Iron Age in Europe to move forward
chronologically to view changes brought on by the Roman conquest in Britain alone, s/he
reads the same introductory text. It picks up sequentially from Room 50 orienting visitors
by identifying Claudius as the emperor who invaded Britain in 43 and marking 100 as
the date by which England, Wales, and some of Scotland had been conquered. The panel
goes on to credit the Romans for building towns, roads and villas, making Latin the official
language, and introducing Roman law and money, thereby reinforcing the time-honored
theory that the empire civilized savage Britons. The text ends with an enticement to visi-
tors to explore the adjacent Room 41, newly installed in 2014, by declaring the collapse of
the province “in the early fifth century as continental peoples from beyond the frontiers
invaded.” Buried in the short text is one sentence hinting that traditional understandings of
Romans engendering cultural progress have been revised in Room 49: “A ‘Romano -British’
culture developed as new settlers from across the empire mixed with the local population.”

Further into the gallery, a short wall text entitled “Roman Britain: The Nature of the Evi-
dence” reveals more about principles underlying the display. It explains that Britain appears
first in ancient texts of the Roman period, but, unlike the introduction to the 1922 guide,
cautions visitors that the historical outline of the province derived from such sources is
incomplete and often biased. The text proceeds to laud archaeology for its crucial role in
revising and expanding the picture of Roman Britain. Thus, it divulges that the predomi-
nant organizing principle for the thousands of objects in the room centers on categorizing

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Nancy Netzer

13.6. Mildenhall Treasure (Great Dish on right).

the various types of knowledge of Roma-
no-British culture they offer. Sometimes
blurring distinctions between art history
and archaeology, the installation juxta-
poses cases designed to highlight aesthetic
achievement with others conceived to dis-
play visual evidence of life in the province.

Four must-sees called out on the intro-
ductory panel epitomize this interpretive
duality. Two of the four, the Mildenhall
Treasure and the Hadrian bronze head,
are of high aesthetic merit and are shown
off fittingly in well-lighted spacious cases.
Raised on a block to eye level surrounded
by his presumed hand and the statuette of
Nero, Hadrian, now usually assigned to a
local workshop,97 occupies a large case in
the center of the room (fig. 13.3), which
conveys the message that Roman-Britons produced (although, oddly, no mention of its attri-
bution is found on its accompanying label) and erected monumental statues of the emperor
that looked like those in other public spaces throughout the empire.

Filling a long case near the gallery’s entrance from medieval Europe is a magnificent
lineup of the Mildenhall tableware (fig. 13.6). The silver dishes decorated with Bacchic
themes and spoons, some bearing Christian symbols, conjure up images of wealthy owners
and their guests with multiple religious affiliations, contemplating both pagan gods and
Christ as they ate. Countering older notions of lack of refinement in the remote province
and flaunting national pride, the silvers shimmering glare of opulence impresses upon the
visitor that high quality personal possessions were imported to Britannia for use by persons
of wealth and high status. Given their origin and quality, these are clearly works that could
have been claimed, and indeed might have been had they been unearthed earlier, for the
Roman galleries downstairs.

The other two must-sees are not aesthetic attractions as signaled by their presentation.
The significance of the ink writing tablets discovered beginning in 1973 at the Roman mil-
itary post at Vindolanda (fig. 13.7) stems from the texts written on them, which reveal new

information about the daily life of garri-
soned soldiers in Britain and about Latin
cursive script in about 100 CE.98

The large stone tomb (fig. 13.4) exhibits
a rare confluence of material evidence and
textual sources. This is the reconstruction
mentioned above from fragments discov-
ered in Londons Roman town wall, first in
1852 and subsequently in 1885 and 1935,
to reveal the name on the inscription as
Gaius Julius Alpinus Classicanus. He is
known from Tacitus’s account as an aris-
tocratic Gaul who became Roman finance
minister ( procurator ) in Britain in 61
CE following a failed local rebellion and
restored peace to the province.99 Commis-
13.7. Case with a Vindolanda tablet. sioned, according to the inscription, by

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Displaying Roman Britain in the British Museum

his wife, the tomb is presumably of local manufacture and provides evidence that foreigners
associated with the Roman administration in Britannia had the wherewithal to erect grand
monuments for themselves.

In addition to the four works featured on the wall text, a few others are enshrined in
positions of prominence. The central medallion of a mid- fourth-century mosaic from a villa
floor at Hinton St. Mary (fig. 13.8) excavated between 1963 and 1964 takes pride of place in
a large case near the center of the room.100 That it bears the earliest known mosaic picture of

102

Christ elevates it, according to the accompanying text, to “one of the most important early
Christian remains from the Roman Empire.” Indeed it is one of the works chosen by direc-
tor Neil MacGregor recently for his highly popular A History of the World in 100 Objects.101

Nearby in a dedicated large case are the fourth-century Corbridge Lanx (fig. 1 3.2) shown
upright on a riser with the Mileham silver dish lying beside. Although the Lanx depicts a
scene at the shrine of Apollo, labels explain that at least one other piece from the hoard
(melted down long ago) bore Christian symbols, again reinforcing current understanding
that elites in Roman Britain maintained multiple affiliations.

Other displays in Room 49 expand knowledge of
local workshops and the enduring legacy of pre-Roman
local culture. Confronting the visitor immediately upon
entering Room 49 from the medieval gallery, atop a high
pedestal, sits the stone head of an underworld goddess
unearthed at Towcester (fig. 13.5). Blending indigenous
characteristics, like spiraled locks of hair, with the flat-
ness and exaggerated features of Roman theater masks,
the colossal head announces a distinctive Roman pro-
vincial artistic identity for Britannia, an important,
albeit understudied, theme that, alas, is not developed
throughout the installation.

Several other long cases dedicated to precious -metal
hoards excavated over the last few decades, present many
spectacular late antique works. Stylistic consistency
among the silver tableware and magnificent jewelry
found in 1979 near Thetford in Norfolk suggests it is the
product of one local workshop where skill and creativity
matched the best produced in the empire.103 Unearthed

in 1992 the Hoxne Hoard, comprising more than 15,000 gold and silver coins, jewelry, and
silver tableware, tells a similar story.104 It presents some exquisitely crafted unique objects
that expand the canon, like a silver handle in the shape of a tigress and a gilded silver
pepper pot taking the form of a bust of a grand Roman lady. The latter recently achieved
fame as another of MacGregors 100 objects and hence serves as a magnet for visitors.105
The hoard of silver vessels and plaques decorated with chi-rho found at Water Newton in
1974 adds to the room’s narrative the earliest known assemblage of Christian church silver
from anywhere in the empire. Votive plaques offered to a hitherto unknown Celtic god-
dess Senuna from the Ashwell Hoard discovered in 2002 provide new insights into ritual
practices in Roman Britain. An outstanding second- century limestone head from a cult
statue of Mercury unearthed at Uley in 1978 reveals unequivocally that some local crafts-
men could produce works in indigenous stone in the finest Greco-Roman style.106 For the
most part now enshrined as works of art, providing a counterpoint to the archaeological
focus of the gallery’s installation, these recent finds, however, still elicit little detailed anal-
ysis of their aesthetic properties in the accompanying texts. Works are not juxtaposed to
explore regional styles within the province, nor are objects of similar type from other parts

13.8. Case with the Hinton St. Mary mosaic.

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of the empire introduced in the gallery to make instructive
comparisons that would highlight characteristics of British
provincial styles.

Many of the more recent discoveries allow the installation
to add a chapter to its story that would have been impossible
(and perhaps unimaginable) 50 years ago, that is of lavish
living and conspicuous displays of wealth in personal adorn-
ment and decoration of villas by the elite class during the last
century of Roman rule in Britain.107 They also reveal that at
least some members of this ruling class embraced paganism
and Christianity as compatible.

Among the hundreds of other artifacts stacked on the
gallery’s walls, and in rows of long cases and on platforms,
older examples tend to be clustered at the entrance from the
Iron Age gallery; third-fourth century works are closer to
the door leading to medieval Europe. Myriad exceptions
to this chronological layout emanate from the largely the-
matic groupings of objects which tell more archaeological
and historical stories. Groupings of artifacts from three cre-
mation burials of various dates are gathered to instruct on
the nature of archaeological evidence; one from St. Albans
reveals that Roman goods and customs were present in Britain before the military conquest
in 43; another from Elsenham discovered in 1990 demonstrates the context for dating to the
second century an extraordinary small box with millefiori enamel,108 and by extrapolation
others like it made in the Rhineland and Low Countries. Displayed in abundance, Roman
coins, often hoards of military pay found primarily in the new Roman towns, indicate use
restricted to urban areas.

A wall case with first- to third-century gold and silver hoards from Backworth, Caphea-
ton, and Hockwold, all possibly religious treasure, are less showy than the extravagant pieces
across the room from the last century of Roman rule. Many of the small bronze artifacts,
occasionally elaborately decorated with enamel, are displayed as military apparatus. Even
a finely crafted statuette of Mars inlaid with silver is touted on its label only for its “char-
acteristic warlike attire.”109 Large cases labeled “Warfare,” “The Roman Army,” “Role of the

13.9. Case with Romano-British glass describing
glass making techniques.

Army in Britain,” and “Legionary Soldiers” gather arms and equipment as material evidence
of the daily life and exploits of the military, on the one hand reinforcing old stereotypes of

the provinces culture, and, on the other,
demonstrating how the army introduced
new methods of warfare over its nearly
four centuries of occupation.

Many stories relying on evidence
conveyed by the more modest objects
assembled in the nineteenth century told
in the 1918 installation are retold here

in revised form in individual cases dedi-

13.10. Case with Romano-British pottery and Samian ware.

cated to groupings of materials like glass
(fig. 13.9), coinage, pewter, Samian ware
and other pottery (fig. 13.10), lamps, and
building materials, and themes like pagan
religions, Christianity, eating and drink-
ing, mother-goddesses, preventive med-
icine, language and literacy, and jewelry.

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The latter narrative especially has been much enhanced by the unearthing of a mid-sec-
ond-century jewelers hoard at Snettisham in 1985. 110 This hoard allows an arrangement of
the Museum’s vast collection of jewelry to demonstrate the co-existence of Greco-Roman
and native traditions in jewelry manufactured locally, with examples in precious metals
favoring the former and those of more mundane materials more likely preserving indige-
nous styles.

Conclusion

The result of collecting activities which grew in tandem with the vicissitudes of excavations
over nearly three centuries, Room 49 s abundant and varied artifacts, many of which can be
put to use to illuminate various themes, offer unusual opportunity to construct a complex
and detailed story of life in Roman Britain. This brief review of the history of the collec-
tion within the Museum and the academic, social, and political forces that influenced its
interpretation reveals the roots of many of the stories now told in Room 49. On the whole,
the arrangement for the objects conceived in 1918 has died hard, with the result that Room
49 still privileges many of the same themes. This in turn may explain to some extent why
in regard to issues of style and attribution of origin the installation has not fully explored
and embraced implications of recent discoveries. Several of these finds, like the Uley head
of Mercury, highlight how even Toynbees attributions and denigration of local craftsman-
ship might benefit from comprehensive rethinking according greater appreciation for in-
digenous production and its unique characteristics. And, careful analysis combined with
well-chosen juxtapositions of objects (especially comparing examples from different hoards
like Hoxne and Water Newton) might well yield valuable new insights into localization,
regional styles, and workshop practices.111

National museums usually seize the opportunity to build identity and broadcast a
nationalistic message in galleries with local objects. In the case of Room 49, a prevailing,
albeit statistically unfounded, sense that the English descend from Anglo-Saxons who out-
numbered the native British population112 coupled with a lack of esteem for local Roman
craftsmanship inhibits the Museum from realizing the full potential of this collection in
this regard. Reluctance to re-evaluate the quality of local productions in a comprehensive
manner and over time may be a vestige of the perceived social inferiority of those who first
collected and studied this material and of reverence paid to production in the capital by
Britons seeking to model their empire on Romes. Now that Britain no longer administers a
vast empire, the Museum should find itself freer to look at the objects for what they are and
to highlight the uniqueness of local responses to classical themes and styles, the question
with which this exhibition and collection of essays grapples. Although Room 49 imparts a
remarkable volume of information about the production, use, and uncovering of material
evidence for Roman Britain, the installation still leaves room for fuller appreciation and
examination of the aesthetics spawned by the encounter of the symbolic and abstract cur-
vilinear indigenous styles, so conveniently laid out in Room 50, with the naturalistic, illu-
sionistic, and narrative traditions brought by the Romans.113 The display also would benefit
from an exploration of growing evidence for a continuum of some stylistic traditions from
Iron Age to Romano-British to Anglo-Saxon metalwork displayed in Room 41. 114 As it is,
one struggles in the current installation to piece together a coherent picture of the variety
of Romano-British styles and of how those styles might have developed over the nearly four
centuries of Roman rule. Indeed, such critical reappraisals are crucial to understanding
what it meant to be Roman in the province.

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1 Works in the British Museum are referred to in this essay by their accession numbers that begin
with four digits referring to their year of acquisition. Objects with accession numbers beginning
SLAntiq, SLMisc, and SLRings came to the British Museum at its founding from the collection
of Sir Hans Sloane. Information on each object and additional bibliography may be found on the
British Museum collection database: https://www.britishmuseum.org/ research/ collection_online
/search, aspx. The author thanks Gail Hoffman, Robin Fleming, and Kate Shugert for comments
on earlier drafts of this essay.

2 This essay uses the term “Romano-British” as does the British Museum to classify objects made
between 43 and 411 CE found in the areas of Great Britain formerly occupied by the Romans.

3 The English view their ancestry as predominantly Anglo-Saxon, obscuring their Celtic and Ro-
man past. For discussion and the history of this perception supported by assumptions of racial
superiority see Bryan Ward-Perkins, “Why Did the Anglo-Saxons Not Become More British,”
English Historical Review 115 (2000): 513-33.

4 On Sloane’s collection see Arthur MacGregor, ed., Sir Hans Sloane: Collector, Scientist, Antiquary,
Founding Father of the British Museum (London: British Museum, 1994) and Robert Anderson,
“British Museum, London: Institutionalizing Enlightenment,” in The First Modern Museums of
Art: The Birth of an Institution in 18th- and Early- 19th -Century Europe, ed. Carole Paul (Los An-
geles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 2012), 47-59 (with additional bibliography).

5 SLAntiq.85 and 163.

6 SLAntiq.4, 5, 1 14, 1 18, 392, 394, and 446.

7 SLAntiq.23.

8 SLAntiq. 1130.

9 SLAntiq.33, 299, 331, 375, 380, 513, 522, and 524; SLMisc.1455; and SLRings.86, 94, and 115.

10 For discussion of the relationship of these objects to Roman Britain see Nancy Netzer, “The
‘Celtic’ Bronzes from Dura-Europos: Connections to Britain,” in Dura Europos: Crossroads of
Antiquity, ed. Lisa R. Brody and Gail L. Hoffman, exh. cat. (Chestnut Hill: McMullen Museum of
Art, Boston College, 2011), 283-94.

1 1 For discussion see Ian Jenkins, Archaeologists and Aesthetes in the Sculpture Galleries of the Brit-
ish Museum 1800-1939 (London: British Museum, 1992), 9-11, 56-74.

12 Ibid., 13-29.

13 On Townley and his collection see B. F. Cook, The Townley Marbles (London: British Museum,
1985), and more recently, Ilaria Bignamini and Clare Hornsby, Digging and Dealing in Eigh-
teenth-Century Rome, 2 vols. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2010), 1:326-31 and his letters
in vol. 2. Johann Zoffany’s well-known painting of Townley in his library surrounded by his
sculptures and fellow antiquarians provides an idea of how the collection was installed in his
house (Towneley Hall Art Gallery and Museum, PA/Oil 120). See also watercolors in the British
Museum by William Chambers of the installation in Townley’s dining room and entrance hall,
1995,0506.8-9 (Viccy Coltman, Classical Sculpture and the Culture of Collecting in Britain Since
1760 [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009], plates 22 and 23).

14 Jenkins, Archaeologists and Aesthetes, 103-10, esp. figs. 34-37.

15 The installation of the Townley collection in 1846 is described in Henry Ellis, The Townley Gal-
lery of Classic Sculpture in the British Museum, 2 vols. (London: Nattali and Bond, 1846).

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16 1774,0715.1.

17 Sarah Scott, “Britain in the Classical World: Samuel Lysons and the Art of Roman Britain 1780-
1820,” Classical Receptions Journal 6, no. 2 (2014): 295n3 with additional bibliography, doi:10.1093
/crj/clt030.

18 John Horsley, Britannia Romana (London: John Osborn and Thomas Longman, 1732), 192n74.
On the cup and its provenance see most recently Lindsay Allason- Jones, “The Rudge Cup,” in The
First Souvenirs: Enamelled Vessels from Hadrians Wall, ed. David J. Breeze (Kendal: Cumberland
and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society, 2012), 23-36. A print of the Cor-
bridge Lanx after a drawing by William Shaftoe was published in 1736 by Gerard van der Gucht.
The platters decoration suggests a date in the fourth century and origin in the Mediterranean,
North Africa, or Asia Minor. It was found in the bank of the River Tyne at the Roman garrison
town of Corbridge near Hadrian’s Wall where other silver vessels, possibly from the same hoard,
were discovered in the eighteenth century.

19 1964,1007.1 is an electrotype copy.

20 1870,1201.1 and 2005,1204.1. For discussion of the significance of this group of objects see
Breeze, First Souvenirs.

21 1803,0402.1 donated by Thomas Brand Hollis. Probably from a Jupiter column base excavated at
Great Chesterford.

22 1806,1115.1.

23 1993,0510.1.

24 1808,0227.1. The rest of the floor remains beneath what is now a churchyard, and has been un-
covered several times since 1880. It was first drawn in 1722.

25 Drawn and reproduced by Lysons in several publications including An Account of the Remains of
a Roman Villa Discovered at Woodchester (London: T. Bensley, 1815).

26 1812,0613.1 donated by Henry Brooke.

27 1812,0208.1-3 donated by Rev. W. Hawker. Two other altars from the same site were already in
the collection, 1805,0704.1-2.

28 1811,0309.1-8 gift of Alderman Combe.

29 1813,0213.1 probably found at Baylham Mill near Ipswich.

30 1814,0705.1. Charles Townley, Vetusta Monumenta 4 (1815): 1-12. Townley bought the Rib-
chester Hoard from its finder Joseph Walton who lived nearby. The cache of mainly cavalry
equipment, possibly belonging to a single soldier, probably was placed in storage beneath a bar-
rack floor in about 120 CE.

3 1 1824,0482.60-65. The vessels date to the late second or early third century.

32 1824,K/unknown.0.c.

33 1840,1111.1.

34 1836,0213.2,8-12,14-20.

35 1841,0508.27 donated by Edward Moxhay.

36 1848,1103.1.

37 David Masson, The British Museum: Historical and Descriptive (Edinburgh: W. and R. Chambers,

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Nancy Netzer

1850), 43-48, indicates there were 13 cases labeled “various British and medieval antiquities
temporarily deposited in this room.” See also Jenkins, Archaeologists and Aesthetes, 121.

38 Gustav Waagen, Treasures of Art of Great Britain, vol. 1 (London: J. Murray, 1854), 74-86, sin-
gles out bronzes and armor from the “Paldon Hills” (Polden Hill) and “Stanwich” (Stanwick)
acquired in 1846 and 1847 respectively as “Brittano-Roman”; these hoards are largely Iron Age.

39 1850,0601.1-16.

40 T. W. Potter, “Later Prehistory and Roman Britain: The Formation of the National Collections,”
in A.W. Franks: Nineteenth-Century Collecting and the British Museum, ed. Marjorie Caygill and
John F. Cherry (London: British Museum, 1997), 130-31.

41 For discussion see Arthur MacGregor, “Antiquity Inventoried: Museums and ‘National Antiqui-
ties’ in the Mid-Nineteenth Century,” in The Study of the Past in the Victorian Age, ed. Vanessa
Brand (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 1998), 125-37.

42 W. Vaux, Handbook to the Antiquities in the British Museum (London: Murray, 1851), iv; Dafydd
Kidd, “Charles Roach Smith and His Museum of London Antiquities,” British Museum Yearbook
2 (1977): 126.

43 Potter, “Later Prehistory and Roman Britain,” 130-31.

44 1852,1229.8 donated by Henry Long.

45 1853,0620.1 donated by Rev. Thomas Hill. Found in Haydon Square, London.

46 1855,0804.21. The fragmentary Latin inscription reveals that the deceased was a military police-
man ( speculator ) seconded from the legio II Augusta presumably to London.

47 1853,0411.1-19 purchased from the surgeon, apothecary, and collector Edward Acton of
Grundisburgh in Suffolk.

48 1854,0623.1-3 donated by Thomas Best.

49 1852,0806.3 donated by W. J. Hall. The Latin inscription reads: “Aulus Alfidius Olussa, of the
Pomptine voting tribe, aged 70, born at Athens lies here; in accordance with his will his heir set
[this] up.”

50 1852,0806.1 donated by W. J. Hall.

51 Jenkins, Archaeologists and Aesthetes, 121 and 129 with photographs of the gallery from c. 1875
and c. 1905 reproduced as figs. 46 and 47 respectively.

52 Synopsis of the Contents of the British Museum, 62nd ed. (London: Woodfall and Kinder, 1855)
lists the “Anglo-Roman Antiquities,” mosaics, stone monuments, and pigs of lead (along with
their donors) in the Roman Gallery (85-88) and the contents (with donors) of 37 cases in a “Brit-
ish and Medieval Room” containing Romano-British artifacts displayed principally by material
or place of excavation (260-61). Reginald A. Smith, ed., A Guide to the Antiquities of Roman
Britain in the Department of British and Mediaeval Antiquities (London: Trustees of the British
Museum, 1922), 13 indicates that the stones and mosaics were still in the Roman Gallery 67 years
later.

53 Kidd, “Charles Roach Smith,” 105-35; Francis Henry Wollaston Sheppard, The Treasury of Lon-
dons Past: A Historical Account of the Museum of London and Its Predecessors, the Guildhall
Museum and the London Museum (London: HMSO, 1991), 10-20; and MacGregor, “Antiquity
Inventoried,” 134-36.

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54 1856,0701.1380. Kidd, “Charles Roach Smith,” 116.

55 1856,0701.18 found on Lower Thames Street.

56 Edward Miller, That Noble Cabinet: A History of the British Museum (London: Deutsch, 1973),
299-306, 366. For economic reasons, these diverse collections initially were placed in the De-
partment of Oriental Antiquities. Finally, in 1866 a new department, British and Medieval An-
tiquities, was created with Franks as its head. In 1969 it was divided into two further depart-
ments, Prehistoric and Romano-British Antiquities and Medieval and Later Antiquities.

57 For discussion of this division see Martin Henig, The Art of Roman Britain (Ann Arbor: Univer-
sity of Michigan Press, 1995), 174-89; and Henig, “A House Divided: The Study of Roman Art
and the Art of Roman Britain,” in Archaeology and Ancient History: Breaking Down the Boundar-
ies, ed. Eberhard W. Sauer (London: Routledge, 2004), 134-50.

58 1866,0222. l.a-e.

59 Three hundred objects from Renaissance Europe bequeathed by Ferdinand de Rothschild. Smith,
Guide to the Antiquities, v.

60 For a map of the upper floor galleries in 1911 see Henry C. Shelley, The British Museum: Its
History and Treasures (Boston: L. C. Page, 1911), 274. The rooms now occupied by the British
collections, Rooms 49 and 50, then housed the ethnographic collections, many of which were
moved to the Museum of Mankind in 1967. During the Second World War the galleries at the
top of the staircase containing the Romano-British collection were badly damaged and required
rebuilding; the collection was not re-installed until the 1960s (Miller, That Noble Cabinet, 346,
355).

61 Like the Southfleet tombstone of Aulus Alfidius, Binstead sarcophagus, Kings Stanley altars, and
the Woodchester, Withington, and Abbots Ann mosaics mentioned above.

62 Smith, Guide to the Antiquities.

63 Ibid., 97-102.

64 Ibid., 28.

65 Ibid., 129.

66 Ibid., 50-60.

67 Ibid., 77-83.

68 For discussion of the role of museums in shaping the disciplinary boundaries of archaeology and
art history see Christopher Whitehead, Museums and the Construction of Disciplines: Art and
Archaeology in Nineteenth-Century Britain (London: Duckworth, 2009).

69 Smith, Guide to the Antiquities, 3-4 with a list of examples from the British Museum collection.

70 Ibid., 5-6, 75-77.

71 Ibid., 10.

72 Ibid., 11. The colossal stone head of an underworld goddess (1903,1121.1 donated by Sir J. Fer-
mor-Hesketh) was found at Towcester, Northamptonshire. The head, datable to the second or
third century, may have been a finial from a funerary monument (J. M. C. Toynbee, Art in Ro-
man Britain [London: Phaidon, 1962], no. 48).

73 Smith, Guide to the Antiquities, 87.

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Nancy Netzer

74 Ibid. He explains: “The forehead is too low, the ears are too oblique, the back of the head too
prominent, and the beard too closely cut.”

75 Ibid., 89. The bronze (OA.248) was discovered before 1774 at Foss Dyke, Lincolnshire.

76 Ibid., 90-93.

77 Ibid., 127-29.

78 Smith, Guide to the Antiquities, 94-96. Concerning the figure of a cock with green and yellow
enameled feathers in the collection, the author also offers the amusing, unsubstantiated obser-
vation: “Addiction to cock-fighting [in Britannia] may account for the popularity of enameled
brooches representing the bird.”

79 Henig, “A House Divided,” 136-37.

80 Toynbees Art in Roman Britain was followed two years later by the author’s more comprehensive
publication on the development of arts during the four centuries of Roman occupation, Art in
Britain under the Romans (Oxford: Clarendon, 1964). Organized by the Council of the Society
for the Promotion of Roman Studies, the exhibition Art in Roman Britain was shown at Gold-
smith’s Hall in London in the summer of 1961.

81 Toynbee, Art in Roman Britain, no. 101.

82 Ibid., no. 108.

83 Ibid., nos. 105 and 109.

84 Ibid., no. 55

85 Ibid., no. 16. Based on the Celtic names of the dedicators and the Roman name of the craftsman
in the inscription, Toynbee believes “the figurine may have been cast in Britain for British pa-
trons by an immigrant artist.”

86 On long-term loan to the British Museum from the Kent County Council (ibid., no. 10). The bust
was excavated with another in the basement of the Lullingstone villa in Kent.

87 Of the style of the large dish, Toynbee says: “It is carried out in a vigorous, free, and naturalistic
style and so fully in the classical tradition that the possibility of its execution in a British work-
shop, as was once suggested, seems to be wholly excluded” (ibid., 170).

88 1965,1201.1; Toynbee, Art in Roman Britain, no. 1. On loan from D. M. E. Holland at the British
Museum since 1950 before it was purchased in 1965, the head was found in 1907 at the River
Aide at Rendham, near Saxmundham, Suffolk.

89 1925,0610.1; Toynbee, Art in Roman Britain, no. 43. The second-third century Felmingham Hall
(Norfolk) hoard consisting of bronze statuettes buried in a pottery jar was probably a temple
hoard and provides material evidence of the combination of classical and indigenous Celtic tra-
ditions in Roman Britain. The hoard was purchased from Charles Maurice Jickling in 1925.

90 Toynbee, Art in Roman Britain, no. 169. On loan to the British Museum from the Earl of Veru-
lam and the Gorhambury Estates and displayed on the wall in Room 49.

91 Ibid., no. 48.

92 1956,1011.1-2; Toynbee, Art in Roman Britain, no. 128.

93 1879,0710.1 donated by Augustus Wollaston Franks; Toynbee, Art in Roman Britain, no. 54.

94 For floor plans of the building see http://www.britishmuseum.org/visiting/floor_plans_and

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Displaying Roman Britain in the British Museum

_galleries.aspx.

95 1857,0715.1 found in the River Thames at Battersea Bridge, London. Datable between 350 and
50 BCE, the bronze cover for a wood shield was made for display.

96 1951,0402.2 found at Ken Hill, Snettisham, Norfolk in 1950 during plowing. Datable to about 75
BCE, the tore is one of the most elaborate and complex gold objects from antiquity.

97 See Thorsten Opper, Hadrian: Empire and Conflict, exh. cat. (London: British Museum, 2008),
80; and Henig, Art of Roman Britain, 84.

98 Hundreds of wood writing tablets were purchased by the British Museum from the Vindolanda
Trust over the past several decades as they were unearthed. The oldest surviving handwritten
documents in Britain, the Vindolanda tablets contain the handwriting of more than 100 individ-
uals. See http://vindolanda.csad.ox.ac.uk and Greene in this volume.

99 For discussion see R. D. Grasby and R. Tomlin, “The Sepulchral Monument of the Procurator C.
Julius Classicanus,” Britannia 33 (2002): 41-75.

100 1965,0409.1 purchased from W. J. White. Only the central medallion from the large floor in the
collection has been chosen for exhibition. Four male busts, possibly evangelists, and hunting
scenes surround the medallion of Christ. Another section of the floor shows a pagan subject, a
central medallion showing Bellerophon mounted on Pegasus spearing the Chimera.

101 Neil MacGregor, A History of the World in 100 Objects (London: British Museum, 2010), no. 44.

102 See Mattingly in this volume for discussion of religious affiliations of inhabitants within the
Roman Empire.

103 Inscriptions on several objects in the Thetford Treasure reveal use by pagans, unusual at this late
date. Anti-pagan legislation in the last two decades of the fourth century may explain its conceal-
ment.

104 The Hoxne Hoard was concealed after 407/8 when the Romans were losing control of Britain.

105 MacGregor, History of the World, no. 40.

106 1978,0102.1. See Ann Woodward and Peter E. Leach, The Uley Shrines: Excavation of a Ritual
Complex on West Hill, Uley, Glocestershire, 1977-79 (London: English Heritage and British Mu-
seum, 1993).

107 For discussion of the economy supporting Britannia’s “new rich” in the fourth century see Robin
Fleming, Britain after Rome: The Fall and Rise, 400-1070 (London: Penguin, 2010), 6-17.

108 1991,1201.1.

109 1871,0601.1, second century, found at Earith, Cambridgeshire. Purchased through Rollin and
Feuardent.

110 Found at Snettisham, Norfolk in the same village as an Iron Age hoard and datable by coins to
the mid-second century. See Catherine Johns, The Snettisham Roman Jeweller’s Hoard (London:
British Museum, 1997).

111 Several of the conclusions concerning local workshops of Martin Henig, “Workshop, Artists
and Patrons in Roman Britain,” in Ateliers and Artisans in Roman Art and Archaeology, ed. Tro-
els Myrup Kristensen and Birte Poulsen (Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2012),
113-28 might do well to be explored in the installation.

1 12 See Ward-Perkins, “Why Did the Anglo-Saxons Not Become More British,” 522-23.

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Nancy Netzer

113 The collection would lend itself to an empirical exploration of questions recently posed by schol-
ars concerning the inadequacies of applying the model of “Romanization” to the material evi-
dence from Roman Britain. For discussion see Jane Webster, “Creolizing the Roman Provinces,”
American Journal of Archaeology 105, no. 2 (2001): 209-25, Catherine Johns, “Art, Romanisation,
and Competence,” and Jane Webster, “Art as Resistance and Negotiation,” in Roman Imperialism
and Provincial Art, ed. Sarah Scott and Jane Webster (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2003), 24-51, 9-23.

114 For discussion see Netzer, “The ‘Celtic’ Bronzes,” 285-86, 289; Tloyd Taing, European Influence
on Celtic Art: Patrons and Artists (Dublin: Four Courts, 2010), 15-18; and Fraser Hunter, “Celtic
Art in Roman Britain,” in Rethinking Celtic Art, ed. Duncan Garrow, Chris Gosden, and J. D. Hill
(Oxford: Oxbow Books, 2008), 129-45.

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iiMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMii

Roman Provincial Coinage

William E. Metcalf

Authority

In a famous passage of a debate between Agrippa and Maecenas, probably fabricated by the
third-century historian Cassius Dio, Maecenas counsels Octavian as follows:

None of the cities should be allowed to have its own separate coinage or

system of weights and measures. They should all be required to use ours.1

This suggestion, if it was ever made, was not acted upon, and as a consequence the Roman
world developed the most diverse system of coinage of any empire in history.

The line of thinking represented in the quote was already contrary to past Roman prac-
tice, for provincial coinage had begun to develop over a century before and reflected the
general Roman tendency to leave in place institutions that functioned successfully. For
example, when the Romans emerged victorious over Perseus in the Third Macedonian War
(167 BCE), large silver tetradrachms bearing the kings image and a wreathed reverse (plate
69) were replaced by new ones bearing the legends of the Macedonian districts ( merides )
into which the new province was subdivided and a representation of Artemis on the obverse
(plate 70). The cistophoric coinage of Asia, named for the obverse image of the cista mystica
containing a snake, and featuring a bow case surrounded by snakes on the reverse, had been
introduced in the 160s BCE and was changed even less. After Rome inherited the Pergamene
Kingdom in 133 BCE there is no outward change in the coinage: in 121/0 C. Atinius adds his
signature, but there is no further change until the 50s BCE, when governors’ names appear
regularly on coins of five of the traditional mints (plate 19). Base-metal coinage was left
everywhere to follow its own course.

Still, it was (as the Agrippa-Maecenas debate recognizes) the emergence of Augustus,
his administrative reforms, and his settlement of veterans that wrought significant changes,
without ultimately suppressing the local coinages. What came to represent the authority
for coinage was embodied in the imperial bust; how provincial cities got the right to use it
seems to have varied from time to time and province to province. In Spain, for example,
it was common to cite PERM(ISSV) CAES(ARIS) AVG(VSTI), “by permission of Caesar
Augustus”; in Africa (and in one case also in Syria) the formula is “by permission of the
proconsul,” who is named. At a second level, authorization came from the governing body
of the city; this may explain the occasional “pseudo-autonomous” issues that bear the bust

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William E. Metcalf

of the personified synkletos (senate) or boule (council), or even the demos (people at large).
The establishment of veteran colonies in Spain led to many coinages that were authorized
by local decurions or duoviri (the municipal equivalent of consuls) under Augustus and
Tiberius before ultimately dying out under the emperor Gaius (“Caligula,” r. 37-41 CE).
These were struck with Roman denominations, foreshadowing the later period in which the
mint of Rome itself met local currency needs in the western provinces.

The East was another matter. Extensive silver coinages, mostly deriving from Hellenistic
issues, are known. Alexandria coined only sporadically during the Julio-Claudian period,

but it had an abundant and almost continuous coinage
thereafter until the end of the third century, when the
reform of Diocletian standardized the coinage of the
empire. Syria and Cappadocia employed traditional
denominations, struck mostly at Antioch and Caesarea
respectively. Syria has a unique type of base-metal coin-
age, with a large “S C” in an oak wreath, presumably
referring to the mechanism ( Senatus consultum) by
which the coinage was authorized; but there were also
occasional silver issues from Cyprus, Amisus in Pontus,
Tarsus in Cilicia, and Antioch in Syria, as well as trans-
formed cistophori in Asia. A strong case for imperial
involvement can be made for the cistophori of Hadrian,
which were produced at about 20 mints in the prov-
ince of Asia. By this time the old format of cista mystica
and bow case with snakes had long been abandoned,
and the coins (equal by weight to three denarii) resem-
bled nothing so much as overgrown denarii. Hadrian
restored their Hellenic character, drawing on local types
for inspiration (plates 20-21). These are useful for us, as
they help to identify the mint cities. In addition, some
coins were produced at Rome itself and consigned to
the province. This phenomenon can be observed peri-
odically at Caesarea in Cappadocia and Alexandria in
Egypt under Severus Alexander (r. 224-226, 227-228
CE); at Antioch under Philip I (r. 244-249 CE) these
coins are marked MON VRB to distinguish them from
those produced locally (plates 66-67). 2 All this suggests
control of the provincial silver at Rome.

In the East there were relatively few colonies, includ-
ing Alexandria in the Troad, Antioch in Pisidia, Mallus
in Cilicia, and Berytus and Heliopolis in Syria; those there were used Latin inscriptions
and generally looked back to Rome for their selection of images (wolf and twins, legionary
standards, etc.). But the vast majority of mints were cities, “free” or not; as many as 400 of
these struck during the Severan period.

Circulation

In a famous study done over a half-century ago, Jones showed that the range of circulation
was limited.3 Jones looked at excavation reports and charted the coins found by city. Natu-
rally, local coinage predominated, with “foreign” coin occurring with some frequency with-
in 50 miles of its issuing authority, but hardly at all beyond 150. His observation has been
borne out by subsequent finds, and exceptions to the general rule look for explanation. At

14.1 . Uncertain copper denomination of lulia-Cordus,
Lydia, second half of 2nd century CE. Yale University Art
Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund, 2004.6.2874.

14.2. Uncertain copper denomination of Sebaste,

Phrygia,

c. 2n

century CE. Yale University Art Gallery,

Ruth Elizabeth White Fund, 2004.6.610.

14.3. Uncertain copper denomination of Tripolis, Lydia,
Trajan, 98-117 CE. Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth
Elizabeth White Fund, 2004.6.402.

216

Roman Provincial Coinage

Dura-Europos, for example, there is a surprising abundance of coins from Amasia in Pon-
tus, approximately 650 miles distant (518 in a single deposit). Such anomalies are normally
explained by troop movements.4

Motives for Striking

It is seldom possible to say exactly why cities struck coins. Certainly there is no evident
correlation between coinage and the imperial presence, nor can these coinages, whatever
their variety, have amounted to enough currency to have had an impact on military expen-
diture, a commonly used rationale for striking of im-
perial coin. The very act of coinage conferred a certain
prestige, but more than that it could be profitable. We
know that the trapezitai (lit. bankers, but also money-
changers) worked as agents of the governing authority,
which had a stake in their profitability; when coins had
to be exchanged for local currency, the city profited, and
as time went on this became an increasingly important
consideration for cities whose ambitions outstripped
their financial resources. In addition, some coinages in-
dicate that they result from benefaction: whether they
were made to recognize a local donor, or whether he or
she provided a subvention for the coinage itself, is open
to discussion on a case-by-case basis.

But separate from the question of prestige is one of
identity: cities projected their self-image not only for
the benefit of others, but also as a kind of self-definition.

The vitality of the coinage provides not only a wealth of
historical information but also an insight into the pre-
vailing local mentality and the relationship of the cities
to Rome. There were literally hundreds of mints pro-
ducing coins: their peak came during the very Severan
period in which Dio wrote, and perhaps the words he
made Maecenas utter reflect one line of thought during
it failed, and the cities continued coining in their own right: some 160 mints were active
during the period from Valerian and Gallienus (253 CE) to that of Aurelian (270-276 CE),
under whom the tradition finally peters out.

The typical provincial issue bears the head or bust of the ruler on its obverse, though over
time this side included more and more members of the imperial house; alternatively there
could be representations of the boule, the synkletos (fig. 14.1), the demos (fig. 14.2), or a local-
ly-venerated deity (Zeus, Hera, Artemis, Asklepios, etc.) on coins traditionally called “pseu-
do-autonomous.” There was no real question of autonomy, and while the emperor can hardly
have been concerned to oversee a local coinage, most scholars believe that the permission of
the provincial governor was sought. Locally the coin might be dated by an era of the city or of
Rome, or by the tenure of the strategos (lit. general, but the chief magistrate), the grammateus
(secretary), or archiereus (high priest). And coins could be dedicated, usually with a formula
such as the one from Smyrna Polemon sophistes anetheke (“Polemo the Sophist dedicated [sc.
it]” — the coinage?). In one case the die engraver Theodoros even signs his obverse die (fig.
14.3).

For the most part the reverse images concentrate on local deities, their monuments, and
in some cases local festivals. Nor were the cities immune to competition with one another:
the rivalry between Nicaea and Nicomedia for primacy in Bithynia has been detailed by

14.4. Copper assarion of Corinth, L. Verus, 161-169 CE.
Yale University Art Gallery, promised gift of Ben Lee
Damsky, I LE2013. 17.204.

14.5. Uncertain copper denomination of Abydus struck
by Septimius Severus, 193-211 CE. Yale University Art
Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund, 2006.23.1.

his own time. If so, once again

217

William E. Metcalf

Robert,5 but other cities relentlessly insist on indications of status — the titles metropolis
(mother city), neokoros (warden of an imperial temple — see plate 34) are common, and
many claimed to b eprotos (first). Others highlighted monuments: Corinth shows the Acro-
corinth (fig. 14.4), Ephesus the Temple of Artemis (plate 33), and so on. Virtually all found a
place for their local deities — again, Ephesus displayed the archaic xoanon of Artemis (plate
24), Sardis the primitive idol of Demeter/Kore (plate 31), Aphrodisias her cult image of
Aphrodite. In many cases we would otherwise have no idea of the appearance of these
figures.6

Local myth, too, had its place. Both Abydos and Sestos showed Hero in her tower and
Leander swimming the Dardanelles to his death (fig. 14.5). Hercules, always popular, was
the subject of many reverse types; one, shown as Plate 36, comes from Temenothyrae in
Phrygia. This small town also showed a slice of religious life, with a representation of a
gigantic figure of a cult image being towed during a pompa, or procession around the city
usually carried out on an annual schedule (plate 32).

Local events prompted many images. Games were a common theme; these drew tourists
to the city, and presumably created a need for currency to exchange that was met by cele-
bratory types. Such games bore traditional names, such as Olympia or Pythia, but occasion-
ally commemorated events (Aktia, after the battle of Actium) or Severeia (for the Severan
dynasty), and normally showed a prize crown or even the victor crowning himself. A visit
from the emperor was of surpassing importance; when the emperor Caracalla came to Per-
gamum to obtain a cure at the shrine of Asklepios, the healing god, the visit was observed
with a large and varied series of medallion-like coins, huge in scale and ambitious in their
representations (plate 34).

In sum, the provincial coinage shows the Roman Empire at its most varied, and shows
it from a perspective not provided by coins of the mint of Rome, where the authority for
striking was very much top-down. The local coinages were created at local initiative, with
local money, and displayed themes dictated locally. They thus provide a unique insight into
provincial mentalities, often exercising them far from Rome itself.7

218

Roman Provincial Coinage

1 Cassius Dio, Roman History, trans. Earnest Cary (Cambridge: Loeb Classical Library, 1924),
52.3.9.

2 On this see Hans Roland Baldus, MON(eta) VRB(is) ANTIOX1A: Rom und Antiochia als
Pragestatten syrischer Tetradrachmen des Philippus Arabs (Frankfurt: B. Peus, 1969).

3 Tom B. Jones, “A Numismatic Riddle: The So-Called Greek Imperials,” Proceedings of the Ameri-
can Philosophical Society 107 (1963): 308-47.

4 Alfred R. Bellinger in The Excavations at Dura-Europos: Preliminary Report of the 7th and 8th Sea-
sons of Work, 1933-1934 and 1934-1935, ed. Michael Rostovtzeff, Frank Brown, and C. Bradford
Welles (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1939), 414-15.

5 Louis Robert, “La titulature de Nicee et Nicomedie: La gloire et la haine,” Harvard Studies in
Classical Philology 81 (1977): 1-39.

6 Leon Lacroix, Les reproductions des statues sur les monnaies grecques: La statuaire archaique et
classique (Liege: Faculte de philosophic et lettres, 1949); David J. MacDonald, The Coinage of
Aphrodisias (London: Royal Numismatic Society, 1992); Lisa R. Brody, Aphrodisias IIP. The Aph-
rodite of Aphrodisias (Mainz: Von Zabern, 2007).

7 There are a number of general works dealing with the provincial coinage. One of the best, not
yet available in English, is Peter Robert Franke, Kleinasien zur Romerzeit: Griechisches Leben im
Spiegel der Milnzen (Munich: Beck, 1968). There is also Kevin Butcher, Roman Provincial Coins:
An Introduction to the Greek Imperials (London: Trafalgar Square, 1968). The best recent treat-
ment is Christopher Howgego, Volker Heuchert, and Andrew Burnett, eds., Coinage and Identity
in the Roman Provinces (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005). The most notable collection
is that of Hans von Aulock published by the Deutsches Archaeologisches Institut in the Sylloge
Nummorum Graecorum Deutschland (18 fascicules, 1957-68, with an index published in 1981).

219

iiMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMii

The Gerasa Mosaics of Yale: Intentionality and Design

Christine Kondoleon

The mosaics selected for this exhibition reflect significant trends in the cultural landscape of
the Roman and Byzantine Near East, most especially of the fifth and sixth centuries. While
they are small parts of larger compositions, they are representative as synecdoches, parts
of a wider scene of artistic achievement and a broader cultural landscape. They come from
domestic and ecclesiastical settings, and as such tell us about the aspirations of individuals
and families, and about the faith of their communities. The fragments each reveal a different
response to the cultural landscape as well as the rich diversity of mosaic production in this
region. As the population of the late antique Near East moved steadily toward Christianity
from the fourth through the fifth centuries the tendency to avoid figural representation
entirely led to the development of geometric and floral designs. Many of these designs were
further enriched with filling motifs that often referenced the natural world, such as baskets
of fruit or a vine laden with grapes. However, aniconic austerity expressed most purely in
geometric designs and in some cases required by zealous church leaders was difficult to
maintain for a population raised on mythological narratives. As a result, the period was
also especially fertile in yielding a variety of imagery for new contexts and meanings. Per-
haps the most unusual and compelling images to evolve in this formative period are the
cartographic mosaics highlighting the cities of Palestine and Egypt. These cityscapes are
part of a widespread movement toward complex schemes set out on the pavements of re-
ligious buildings. It is easy for modern viewers to miss the intentionality of these mosaics
and to mistake them as merely decorative. Written words set in mosaic make clear that the
pavements carry messages. Indeed, there was a proliferation of largely Greek inscriptions
throughout the early churches of Syria and Palestine (comprising modern-day Jordan, Is-
rael, and the West Bank). Messages were embedded on floors in domestic as well as eccle-
siastical settings, as exemplified by the labels identifying the two figures in a mosaic from
the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (plate 182). Antioch, the capital of Roman Syria and one
of the great centers of early Christianity, provides ample evidence of the use of Greek labels
accompanying mythological figures, and during the fourth through the sixth centuries la-
beled personifications increasingly replaced pagan narratives.1

Ancient Gerasa (modern Jerash in Jordan) is the springboard for our discussion of what
mosaics can reveal about the plurality of art in this transitional period. Because Yale Univer-
sity, together with the British School of Archaeology in Jerusalem and the American Schools
of Oriental Research, was involved in the exploration of Jerash in the 1920s and 1930s, the
collection of the Yale University Art Gallery includes many fine mosaics from the site. At

221

Christine Kondoleon

15.1. Colonnaded streets at Gerasa, 1931.

first glance Gerasa, noted for its tem-
ples placed along colonnaded streets
(fig. 15.1), the oval forum framed by
Ionic columns, its theater, hippodrome,
baths, and fountains, presents a model
Roman polis. It is the best preserved of
the 10 cities that formed the Decapolis,
the customary appellation for a group
of cities in Roman Judaea and Syria.
The discovery of more than 12 churches
and chapels with extensive decorations
and mosaics from the fifth through the
seventh centuries offers an alternative
profile for this strategic ancient hub.
Our challenge is to assess the develop-
ments in the urban center in light of the
floruit of rural life in the surrounding
countryside where similar ecclesiastical
structures and mosaic compositions were produced. In other words, the churches of Gerasa
belong to a much wider provincial phenomenon of burgeoning Christian influence and
growth before the time of the Persian invasions of 614 and Muslim conquest of 636, but
even into the Umayyad period (661-750). The mosaics survive in remarkable numbers to
tell a story about art, faith, and community at a time of transition, a time from the era of
Constantines conversion in 312 to the foundation of the Dome of the Rock in 692.

In contrast to the Roman template of urbanism and impressive masonry buildings seen
in Gerasa, the villages of the region built their churches on a small scale.2 Sometimes this
was because they were private chapels, but mostly the country churches were embedded
in domestic and agrarian structures so as to blend into the fabric of the village. They do
not dominate as earlier temples once did but rather appear to respond to the human needs
of ordinary country folk — all were welcome and had a place within the sacred walls. The
mosaics and their dedicatory inscriptions speak to a universality of message and an impulse
toward a communal concept of nature and the cosmos. The mosaics of Gerasa, while they
exist in an urban environment and decorate monumental churches, are exactly in keeping
with developments in rural Palestine and Syria. They exemplify broader trends — exuberant
geometric designs and a hesitation to include figural motifs of any kind, declarations of
benefactors and church leaders in the form of inscriptions and portraits of founders, and
innovative displays of the topography of the Holy Land.

Geometric patterns, especially interlace or rope work, were popular in Roman art from
the third century onward, however they take on an innovative exuberance in the fifth
through seventh centuries throughout the Mediterranean and in Europe. The braiding
of geometric shapes, such as squares, circles, and octagons, created intricate knot work
designs that may have been thought to have magical properties.3 In the same period, there
are many textiles — only those from Egypt survive — that reveal a strong preference for knot-
ted designs on clothing; the same is true for jewelry, and these all bear a strong resemblance
to the interlace designs used for mosaic floors (see Nicgorski in this volume).

As James Trilling summarizes, “Interlace is eye-catching and confusing, and its tradi-
tional association with doors, windows, religious symbols, and the beginnings and ends of
books, all of which were foci of supernatural attack and defense, suggest that its popularity
depended not just on its decorative properties but on its success as a functional extension
of apotropaic knotting.”4 It is useful to consider the broader history of interlace when we
narrow our focus on the design of the Yale fragment (plate 4). It is a rectangular panel

222

The Gerasa Mosaics of Yale: Intentionality and Design

15.2. Mosaic floor from the Church of Bishop Paul (Procopius Church), south aisle, c. 526 CE. Yale University Art
Gallery, Yale-British School Excavations at Gerasa, 1929.418. See plate 4 for additional image.

executed in bold red and white tesserae with two large octagons, and adjacent squares and
lozenges filled with a variety of interlace patterns. While the pattern of octagons, lozenges,
and squares was widely used from the Roman through the early Byzantine periods, mosa-
icists from the East display a special talent for knot work patterns, and the Yale panel is
exceptionally dense and inventive.5

The Yale interlace panel was located at the eastern end of the south aisle of the Church
of Bishop Paul (fig. 15.2), also called the Procopius Church, because of an inscription in the
nave (plate 5) that names the main benefactor Procopius and gives the date of 526 CE. There
are a great variety of geometric patterns decorating all parts of the building with only occa-
sional insertions of recognizable motifs. There is no attempt to unify the decoration or to
integrate the parts of the church, comprised of a nave and two aisles ending in three parallel
apses, through its ornamentation. For example, the north aisle is paved with single field of
octagons and small hexagons (fig. 15.3), while the south aisle is broken up into at least two
parts; at least half of it does not remain. If we accept that knots had apotropaic power, then
it is conceivable that the Yale interlace fragment, located near the sacred area of the apses,
was singled out for the intricacies of knotting devices. Yet, this is not the case on the eastern
end of the north aisle, so the difference in treatment does not obviously support a selection
for presumed protective powers.

In general, the decoration of the Procopius Church follows the concept of “carpet”
floors, an apt term fully explored by Ernst Kitzinger.6 From the late fourth century into the
fifth century, church mosaics throughout the Mediterranean indicate a preference for geo-
metric designs over any figural compositions. Patterns had the advantage of being adaptable
to the creation of liturgical and commemorative architecture with new shapes (octagons,
polylobed shapes, multi-ringed circles, cruciforms) and expandable to accommodate larger
or smaller groups depending on congregational needs. For example, the same pattern of
octagons, squares, and lozenges with equally complex fillers was used for a very differently
configured space in the southeast corner in the Church of the Prophets, Apostles, and Mar-
tyrs, dated by inscription to 464/65 CE in the eastern quarter of Gerasa.7

Geometric compositions also had the distinct advantage of not inviting pagan associa-
tions. The Yale mosaic from the south aisle reflects a specific moment in the unfolding story
of artistic responses to shifting faiths, from paganism to Christianity. Amidst the prevailing

223

Christine Kondoleon

taste for dense all-over geometry, there are occasional motifs alluding to the natural world.
Several survive in the Procopius Church: a bird, a cypress tree, woven baskets, and a chalice
(fig. 15.3). Undoubtedly there were more, but the original investigators noted episodes of

intentional destruction of figural motifs.
In his initial publication of the Gerasa
expedition, Carl Kraeling observed, “ani-
mate objects of some sort may have occu-
pied the center of each octagon, since
both have been destroyed and patched
with marble.”8 Images of people, animals,
and plants in church mosaics were delib-
erately damaged — only the offensive
parts were removed and the damage was
repaired by mixing cubes taken from the
excerpted parts. Whether these physical
erasures were due to the Edict of Yazid
II in 721 and Islamic rule, or more likely,
to self-censorship by Christians in an
environment increasingly hostile to fig-
ural representation, cannot be known. In
addition to the attitudes of Muslim and
Jewish neighbors, the sermons of zealous
Christian clergymen indicate that some
endowed even such seemingly innoc-
uous motifs as birds and plants with
pagan associations. Probably most of the
physical damage was done in the eighth
century.

But before these episodes of expur-

15.4. Mosaic floor from the Church of Saints Cosmas and Damian, .. .1 • j j • i- 1

gation, there was a period during which

224

The Gerasa Mosaics of Yale: Intentionality and Design

nature was celebrated inside the church espe-
cially in the later half of the fifth century and
throughout the sixth century. Plants and ani-
mals are scattered about many church pave-
ments. The best surviving example of this
floruit of nature from Gerasa is the undam-
aged— inexplicably this mosaic was left
unharmed — nave pavement of the Church of
Saints Cosmas and Damian dated to 533 CE.

A large carpet contains smaller regular squares
filled with a variety of isolated birds (peacocks,
ducks) and quadrupeds (a dog, a hare, a ram,
a gazelle) and larger diagonal squares filled
with intricate geometric designs (fig. 15.4).

The composition almost seems to be balancing
aniconic decoration with figuration, a visual
dialogue of the two trends in church decora-
tion at the time of its production. The presence
of the aquatic birds and fish alongside the nave
set in a panel between the columns, suggests
that the mosaicists wanted to represent all
living creatures from the air, earth, and sea.9
The nave mosaic of the Church of Saints Cos-
mas and Damian offers an insight into how to
contextualize the lost filling motifs of the Yale
panel — most likely a vase or basket similar to
ones found in the north aisle of the Procopius
Church. While these filling motifs were sparsely used and simple in form, the faithful gath-
ered in the church were schooled to see them as parts of a larger vision of the natural world,
as references to Creation.

The natural world is also referenced in the panel with a vine scroll mosaic set immedi-
ately adjacent to the Yale mosaic that probably covered the remaining length of the south
aisle of the Procopius Church (fig. 15.5). One of the squares nearest to the sanctuary of
Saints Cosmas and Damian features a vine with three grape clusters, perhaps an oblique
reference to the Trinity.10 The use of vines laden with grapes and filling motifs related to
wine making and drinking, such as baskets sometimes filled with grapes, Greek drinking
cups ( kantharoi ), and amphorae, hint at the process of adaptation and absorption of pagan
imagery. For centuries such designs had specific Dionysiac connotations, but starting in
the fourth century in the churches of the Byzantine East, wine imagery may be associated
with the Christian Eucharist. A Greek inscription from the Gospel of John (15:1), “I am the
true vine,” accompanies a panel with a vine laden with grapes on a fourth-century mosaic
in the nave of the Basilica of Chrysopolitissa in Paphos, Cyprus.11 The biblical identification
makes clear that explanations were often needed in a time of an emerging Christian art.
In the same panel with the vine and quote from the Gospel of John is another inscription,
a dedicatory one on behalf of Hesychios who wanted to offer thanks to God. This modest
insertion of thanks placed near to the symbolic vine is one of the earliest interventions of a
personal message as part of church decoration.

By the fifth and sixth centuries it was very popular for the donors and the church leaders
who supervised the building projects to leave records of their benefactions and accomplish-
ments in the form of mosaic inscriptions usually set close to the sanctuary. At the top of
the nave pavement, closest to the sanctuary of the nave at Saints Cosmas and Damian are

15.5. Mosaic floor from the Church of Bishop Paul (Procopius Church),
south aisle, c. 526 CE (in situ).

225

Christine Kondoleon

15.6. Mosaic floor from the Church of Saint Theodore, c. 496 CE. Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-British School

Excavations at Cerasa, 1932.1736.

two mosaic panels with a male and female figure in devotional attitude — these are the por-
traits of the donors Theodore and his wife Georgia. The figures remind us that individuals
were personally involved in the creation and decoration of these churches. We can recall
the pious frontal faces and open praying gestures when we consider yet another mosaic
fragment from the Procopius Church that made its way to Yale University (plate 5). This
one comes from the east end of the nave and is a tabula ansata of white letters against a red
background that reads:

Under Paul, Bishop most beloved of God and holy, was completed the sacred
church from benefactions of himself and Saul, most pious deacon and can-
on-resident, Procopius the very devout being in charge, in the 589th year the
month of October, the fifth [?] year of the Indiction.12

There are many such messages of thanksgiving and devotion written with tesserae
throughout the region. They serve as a legacy of the individuals who were the leaders and
benefactors of their respective communities and they evidence a civic pride in church build-
ing and decoration. The practice was widespread and inclusive of all elements of church
furnishings and appointments as evidenced by a great number of liturgical silver items
(lamps, patens, reliquaries, chalices) that bore the names of donors along with prayers. For
example, a sixth-century silver chalice from the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston bears a Greek
inscription that reads: “I, Sarra prayed and made [this] offering to the First Martyr [Saint
Stephen] ”13

Although 120 inscriptions are preserved from the site of Gerasa14 — none offers any spe-
cifics about beliefs or how the donors felt about the pressing ecclesiastical debates of their
time; we simply know when and who dedicated the churches and mosaics and the pride
they took in doing so. Mosaic inscriptions, however, can inform us about the function of
certain spaces within the churches. For example, another Yale mosaic (fig. 15.6) from a
room near the Church of Saint Theodore built in 496 CE as part of the cathedral complex
of the city reads: “I am the most happy place of the second order of the male hymn-singers.”
Most likely it identifies a room that was used for the choir. Messages inscribed in tesserae
and on the stone of the buildings signal to modern viewers how directly church decoration
addressed the faithful.

226

The Gerasa Mosaics of Yale: Intentionality and Design

There can be little doubt that literal and visual cues were meaningful and very much
a part of the experience of these sacred spaces. This perception informs how we view the
masterfully restored Yale mosaic from the nave of the Church of Saints Peter and Paul (plate
3). Despite the discovery of three inscriptions on the pavements, none offers an internal
date, but Kraeling has recommended a date of about 540 CE.15 While the section that sur-
vives at Yale is only part of a larger nave pavement, it seems to preserve the key part of the
central design, namely the dedicatory inscription framed by a cityscape of Memphis and
Alexandria. The inscription in the form of a tabula ansata is set almost as if a banner or title
at the top of the panel with the cityscape below surrounded with trees.16 The inscription
mentions that Bishop Anastasius, who in another mosaic is identified as “of the four cities,”
supervised the church dedicated to Apostles Peter and Paul and decorated it with silver and
stone. Below the cities is part of a design of lotus buds, which clearly was part of a larger
scheme containing Nilotic birds and plants. The whole nave pavement was once framed by
a lush acanthus. At the top of the fragment, above the inscription, is a large amphora with
vine shoots emerging from it. The sequence is on axis with the apse and should be viewed
as a unified composition, albeit of individual parts. The approach to the composition is an
additive one; in other words, it can be understood as a sum of its parts.

The regional artists relied on their viewers, the gathered faithful, to comprehend the
meaning of the whole, but no inscriptions, sermons, or letters survive to offer irrefutable
proof of meaning. The local artists employed elements of design that were well known, and
they were inventive in their combinations. We are left to ponder why the cities of Alexandria
with its famous Pharos (lighthouse) and Memphis are set in a garden of fruit-bearing trees
and along the banks of the Nile represented by the lotus buds below. It should be noted that
the Alexandria cityscape includes a domed building with a cross on top, clearly a church.
Perhaps it is intended as a diagram of Paradise. As discussed above, the wine and vine allude
to the Eucharist and biblical texts and were widely employed motifs throughout the Med-
iterranean. The cityscapes, however, are part of an artistic tradition that is specific to this

15.7. Mosaic floor from the Church of Saint George, Madaba, mid-6th century CE.

227

Christine Kondoleon

15.8. Mosaic floor from the Church of Saint John the Baptist, nave, c. 531 CE (in situ).

region — walled cities appear in many church mosaics; the best known is the so-called Mad-
aba mosaic map from the Church of Saint George in Madaba, Jordan (fig. 15.7). It features
topographic aerial views of Jerusalem and Bethlehem and may represent a cartographic
illustration of the journey for Christians overland from Egypt to the Holy Land. Hellenistic
and Roman artists practiced topographia, “the painting of places” using similar aerial views
of buildings and landscapes. Greek artists portrayed an important expedition from Alexan-
dria through the Delta to the border of Ethiopia on the famous Palestrina mosaic produced
most likely in the first century BCE in the form of a map with highlights of exotic animals
and sites visited.17 Roman artists also explored mapping techniques, as evidenced by several
fourth-century North African mosaics. For example, the cult places of Aphrodite (Erycos,
Cytherae, Knidos, etc.) are the subject of an early fourth-century mosaic, perhaps repre-
senting a pilgrimage itinerary for the followers of the goddess, recently found in Haidra
(ancient Ammaedara).18The earlier examples of this art form confirm that early Byzantine
artists could draw on a rich and long tradition of topographic scenes in ancient art, but the
inventive compositions with their explicitly labeled regional locales found in the early Byz-
antine churches of Jordan are especially impressive and distinctive. These mosaics employ
geographic and topographic approaches and are among the most creative expressions of
early Byzantine art anywhere in the Mediterranean. Recent finds continue to astonish with
their innovations.19 One surprising discovery made in the late 1980s is the pavement from
the Church of Saint Stephen at Umm al-Rasas (Kastron Mefaa) located about 30 km south-
east of Madaba and dated by inscription to 785. The nave pavement of an inhabited vine
scroll is surrounded by a double border — on the outside by 15 walled cities and the inside
by 10 walled cities labeled with Egyptian towns and Nilotic landscapes.20

The representation of cities such as Memphis and Alexandria that are so significant as
ancient urban centers, as well as for the development of early Christian church history,
suggests that the choice of cities might provide the key to interpretation. Yet, despite
multiple scholarly attempts to justify the presence of particular cities on particular pave-
ments with special religious (e.g., the theological struggles between the Orthodox and the

228

The Gerasa Mosaics of Yale: Intentionality and Design

Monophysites) or with local significance (e.g., Holy Land pilgrimage sites), it seems most
likely given the visual culture of the early Byzantine period that many of the city vignettes
function more generally as topoi.21 In fact, there are several examples of cityscapes without
labels, indicating that they do not necessarily signal specific locations. In the case of the
Yale mosaic from the Church of Saints Peter and Paul, the famous Egyptian cities stand in
as generic references to Egypt and the Nile. Like the amphora with vine shoots, the cities
set on the banks of the Nile River allude to the abundance of the earth, and these decorative
elements function in much the same way as the dedicatory inscriptions found throughout
the churches of Jordan at this time, as part of a larger pictorial ensemble of thanksgiving
to the Creator. The Yale city vignettes are matched by a slightly earlier variation on this
theme from the circular Church of Saint John the Baptist in Gerasa dated to 531. In the
frame surrounding the interior square nave pavement, there are several city vignettes and
shrines (fig. 15.8). In the southern section we find the cities of Memphis and Alexandria,
identified in Greek, that sit on a wide curved band representing the fish-filled waters of the
Nile with long-legged wading birds and lotus flowers along its banks.22 The lush acanthus
foliage and elaborate candelabra fill in the areas of the exedra and outline the circular plan
of the building; these design elements reinforce that the land where these cities and shrines
existed was prosperous and fertile. These compositions of city vignettes and allusions to the
Nile should be seen in the context of the even more popular inhabited vine scroll designs,
or the animal-filled gardens and forests that occupy the nave mosaics throughout Palestine,
Syria, and Arabia (Transjordan).23 Taken together they represent an enthusiastic regional
response to incorporate nature and the wonders of creation within the sacred walls of the
many new churches. Henry Maguire has tracked this visual trend with the literary works,
especially sermons of the period, and produced a convincing dialogue between image and
word for the early Byzantine period.24

The Nilotic theme provides a convenient means to explore possible sources and a con-
text for this new visual language.25 A later fifth-century domestic mosaic from Antioch,
slightly earlier than the Gerasa church mosaics under discussion, demonstrates the close
association between the Nile and Creation.26 At the center of the room is a medallion fea-
turing an ornately bedecked female bust identified as Ktisis; the surrounding border filled
with ducks, wading birds, and lotus blossoms alludes to the Nile (fig. 15.9). Typically, Ktisis
might translate as “Foundation” in the sense of the construction of a building, but the Nilot-
ic-themed frame signals a broader meaning, one that encompasses earthly Creation. This
interpretation is supported by the decoration of a neighboring room with the busts of the
Seasons surrounding a female bust identified as Earth (Ge). Several sixth-century church
pavements include figures of Ktisis along with motifs from nature, suggesting perhaps that
such themes first developed in the domestic sphere and were later adopted for religious
settings. There are several mosaics related to the Nile found in the houses of Palestine and
Syria, for example, the mosaic hall in the House of Leontios in Beth She’an, Israel, a Jewish
house complex dated to the later fifth or early sixth century. In addition to scenes from
the Odyssey, there is a panel with the personification of the River Nile, a Nilometer, and
a building inscribed with the name Alexandria.27 The most elaborate Nile mosaic yet dis-
covered comes from a fifth-century secular building in Sepphoris, Israel, where an entire
room is paved with scenes related to the flooding of the Nile. Most elements are labeled in
Greek, including the personifications of Egypt, the Nile River, Semasia or “the flooding,”
and the Pharos.28 It is an extremely dense composition that emphatically demonstrates a
post-pagan interest in the festivals connected with the inundation and a continued belief
in their propitious effects. Perhaps the popularity of Nilotic themes with its focus on the
flooding and therefore on fertility of the land both in sacred and domestic spaces might be
likened to the frequent appearances of Aphrodite/Venus in Roman imperial mosaics, which
also belied a keen interest in invoking fertility, however through sexuality and beauty. A

229

Christine Kondoleon

15.9. Mosaic floor from Antioch with bust of Ktisis and Nilotic borders, late 5* century CE. Worcester Art

Museum, 1936.35.

sixth-century papyrus text from Antionoe preserves a Christian hymn glorifying the Nile
and provides a window into the Christian thinking about such matters, namely that the
Nile, like the earth and ocean and rivers, manifests Gods creative powers.29 The hesitation
to give up on tried and true rituals, such as the celebration of the Nile festival, usually has
more to do with the quotidian preoccupations of communities tied to the agricultural sea-
sons, than as an expression of devout paganism. In other words, the ongoing offerings of
thanks to multiple powers, both pagan and Christian, made practical sense to villagers and
even urbanites dependent on fertile fields and good water supplies. Adaptation and absorp-
tion are the strategies of the early Byzantine artists when confronted with the gaps left by
the abandoned mythical repertoire. Early Islamic artists are equally skilled at re -visualizing
the artistic language of their peers in the region. The Umayyad mosaics of the courtyard of
the Great Mosque in Damascus employ city vignettes and water-filled gardens to evoke a
vision of Islamic paradise.30

The loan from Boston (plate 182) further illustrates the cross fertilization of visual lan-
guage between the secular and the sacred realms. Of course, the same mosaic workshops
and often the same donors are involved, and so it stands to reason that there are borrowings
and a shared cultural understanding of imagery. The late antique viewer was accustomed to
“reading” mosaic compositions that included personifications, mostly in the form of female

230

The Gerasa Mosaics of Yale: Intentionality and Design

figures who were often identified by Greek labels. They made reference to abstract ideas
(e.g., “desire,” “renewal,” “wealth,” “power”), to time (the year, the seasons, the occupations
of the seasons), and to parts of nature (seas, rivers, mountains). A couple embraces, seated
on a bench outside, indicated by the trees, and they are labeled as Pleasure (. Apolausis ) and
Wealth ( Ploutos ). They were once accompanied by Tife (Bios) and Tuxury (Tryphe), who
recline on a couch and are on view at the Royal Ontario Museum in Toronto.31 And indeed,
myth never quite disappeared from the artistic repertoire as vividly demonstrated by the
mosaic pavement from the Room of Hippolytus (on the site of the Church of the Virgin) in
Madaba with a very busy cast of characters from pagan narratives.32 The limestone funer-
ary relief (plate 181) of a local elite man reclined for posterity echoes the same message
despite the fact that he is garbed in local Palmyrene dress. Regional details may vary but a
shared visual language abides. The aspirations of the local elite underline an ongoing con-
cern with projecting the “good life.” Within the context of a domestic reception space — the
most likely location of the Boston and Toronto mosaics — the artists invented a fresh, but
perfectly readable composition of four figures celebrating the bounty of life. Similar themes
are explored within the synagogues and churches in the region while drawing on a wide
pool of motifs related to nature.

It is surprising that within the restricted scope of this essay, namely the mosaics of
Gerasa now in the collection of the Yale University Art Gallery, an overview of the devel-
opment of floor mosaics in the Byzantine Near East during the formative period of the
fifth through the sixth centuries is possible. The trends discussed here are representative of
those found throughout the Mediterranean and reflect significant cultural shifts in this era.
The intermingling of the sacred and the secular was part of the strategy to develop a fresh
artistic vocabulary with a decided focus on nature, terrestrial abundance, and, by extension,
Gods Creation.

231

Christine Kondoleon

1 It should be noted that Jerash was in the ecclesiastical province of Antioch until the middle of the
sixth century, and Antioch was at the “apex of a vast ecclesiastical infrastructure which stretched
over Asia Minor, Cyprus, Syria and much of Arabia,” see Annabel Jane Wharton, Refiguring the
Post Classical City: Dura Europos, Jerash, Jerusalem and Ravenna (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press, 1995), 76.

2 On the negotiation and transformation of space from pagan to Christian city, see ibid., esp.
64-85.

3 James Trilling, Language of Ornament (London: Thames and Hudson, 2001), 134-35.

4 Ibid., 135.

5 For this pattern, see Catherine Balmelle et al., Le decor geometrique de la mosai'que romaine 1:
Repertoire graphique et descriptif des compositions lineaires et isotropes, rev. ed. (Paris: Picard,
2002), plate 178d and DG 2002.2 plate 373a; for fillers see DG 2002.2 plate 373b. Antioch pro-
vides ample parallels for these interlace designs starting in the later fourth century and especially
in the fifth and sixth centuries (see Doro Levi, Antioch Mosaic Pavements [Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1947], Bath E, Room 10, plate 109a, Kaoussie plate 1 14a, b; mosaic of Ananeo-
sis, plate 93a; Yakto Complex, mosaic of Megalop sychia, Room 21, plate 111a, b; House of the
Bird Rinceau, upper level, Room 2, plate 92b).

6 Ernst Kitzinger, “Stylistic Developments in Pavement Mosaics in the Greek East from the Age of
Constantine to the Age of Justinian,” in La mosa'ique greco-romaine (Paris: CNRS, 1965), 341-52,
esp. 343-44; one of the earliest demonstrations of the taste for pure geometric ornamentation
was found in the Church of Kaoussie (Qaousiye Church) dated by inscription to 387 CE.

7 See John Winter Crowfoot, Churches at Jerash: A Preliminary Report of the Joint Yale-British
School Expeditions to Jerash, 1928-1930 (London: Beccles, 1931), 46, plate 13b.

8 Carl H. Kraeling, Gerasa: City of the Decapods (New Haven: American Schools of Oriental Re-
search, 1938), 340.

9 For a related composition, see Qasr-el-Lebia, East Church panels with single motifs representing
nature in Henry Maguire, Earth and Ocean: The Terrestrial World in Early Byzantine Art (Uni-
versity Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1987), 35, fig. 52.

10 Ibid., 36.

1 1 Demetrios Michaelides, Cypriot Mosaics (Nicosia: Department of Antiquities, 1992), 70-71, no.
37.

12 According to one source an indiction is: “The most commonly used Byzantine mark of time was
in fact the Indiction cycle of 15 years, beginning on 1 September 312, which became mandatory
from 537” (Elizabeth Jefferys, John F. Haldon, and Robin Cormack, eds. The Oxford Handbook
of Byzantine Studies [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008], 33). And it is noted that, “The Byz-
antines used indictional dating in everyday life and in administration” (Alexander P. Kazhdan et
al., The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, vol. 2 [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991], 993).

13 MFA, Boston 1971.633, in Marlia Mango, Silver from Early Byzantium: The Kaper Koraon and
Related Treasures, exh. cat. (Baltimore: Walters Art Gallery, 1986), 246-47, cat. 73, and for other
examples of similarly inscribed silver chalices: 141-46, no. 29-30; 188-91, no. 41; for an ewer,
104-7, cat. 14.

232

14 For example C. Bradford Welles in Kraeling, Gerasa: City of the Decapods, 473-89 or the Pack-
ard Humanities Institute epigraphy database, www.epigraphy.packhum.org/inscriptions/main

The Gerasa Mosaics of Yale: Intentionality and Design

?url=gis%3Fregion%3D10.

15 Kraeling, Gerasa: City of the Decapolis, 251.

16 “Certainly, my bishop brings beautiful marvels to the people who inhabit this city and land,
because he built a house to Peter and Paul, the chiefs of the disciples (for the Savior imparted
the authority to them), and adorned it with silver and beautifully colored stones; the renowned
Anastasios who teaches the true precepts of God,” see Lisa R. Brody, “Gerasa,” in Byzantium and
Islam: Age of Transition (7th-9th Century), ed. Helen C. Evans and Brandie Ratliff, exh. cat. (New
York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2012), 12, cat. 1.

17 J. J. Pollitt, Art in the Hellenistic Age (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 205-8, fig.

221.

18 See Fathi Bejaoui, “lies et villes de la Mediterranee sur une mosaique dAmmaedara (Ha'idra en
Tunisie),” CRAI 141, no. 3 (1997): 825-58.

19 For a general discussion of the architectural scenes found on Jordanian mosaics, see Noel Duval,

“L’iconografia architettonica nei mosaici di Giordania,” in I Mosaici di Giordania, ed. Michele
Piccirillo (Rome: Quasar, 1986), 151-55.

20 See Michele Piccirillo, The Mosaics of Jordan (Amman: American Center of Oriental Research,

1992), 218-33; and Glen W. Bowersock, Mosaics in History: The Near East from Late Antiquity
to Islam (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2006), who devotes a whole chapter to the city
vignettes, 64-88.

21 This is not the opinion of Bowersock who states that the city vignettes are not “merely symbol-
ic...but rather an attempt to show the real city” (ibid., 68). No doubt the specificity of certain
mosaic cityscapes expresses a desire to draw on the regional geography and architecture, but how
does this affect our reading of the overall message?

22 Piccirillo, Mosaics of Jordan, 286-88, figs. 501-6, 536-45.

23 Peter Brown evokes the symbolic power of the Nile so vividly in his review of Palestine in Late
Antiquity, by Hagith Sivan, New York Review of Books (June 11, 2009): 42: “A magic river whose
divinely effortless inundation brought a tingle of delight to pagans, Jews and Christians alike at
the very thought of so much damp fertility, carried by art into the midst of a hot, dry city.”

24 This method is first established in Maguire, Earth and Ocean and later expanded upon in several
articles and books, cited in the notes below.

25 For a review of the significance of Nilotic scenes, see Rachel Hachlili, Ancient Mosaic Pavements:

Themes, Issues, and Trends (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 97-109, and Henry Maguire’s “Nature in Early
Byzantine Art,” in Nectar and Illusion: Nature in Byzantine Art and Literature (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2012), 11-34; Maguire, “The Nile and the Rivers of Paradise,” in The Madaba
Map Centenary, 1897-1997: Travelling through the Byzantine Umayyad Period, ed. Michele Pic-
cirillo and Eugenio Alliata (Jerusalem: Studium Biblicum Franciscanum, 1999), 179-84.

26 Now in the Worcester Art Museum, 1936.35, but originally from the House of Ge and the Sea-
sons, Room 4; see The Arts of Antioch: Art Historical and Scientific Approaches to Roman Mosa-
ics and a Catalogue of the Worcester Art Museum Antioch Collection, ed. Lawrence Becker and
Christine Kondoleon (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005), 208-15, mosaics, cat. 5.

'll Hachlili, Ancient Mosaic Pavements, 97, plate 5.1.

28 Zeev Weiss and Rina Talgam, “The Nile Festival Building and Its Mosaics: Mythological Rep-

233

Christine Kondoleon

resentations in Early Byzantine Sepphoris,” in The Roman and Byzantine Near East 3, ed. J. H.
Humphrey (Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2002), 55-72.

29 Henry Maguire, “Christians, Pagans, and the Representation of Nature,” Riggisberger Berichte 1
(1993): 153.

30 These mosaics are best seen in the 1928-29 pre-restoration photographs of the west rivaq, see
Loreline Simonis, Les releves des mosaiques de la grande mosquee de Damas (Paris: Musee du
Louvre, 2012), fig. 40.

3 1 Attributed to the sixth century and to a Syrian workshop because of their style, technique, and
iconography, see Christine Kondoleon, “Celebrating Pleasure and Wealth: A New Mosaic at
the Museum of Pine Arts, Boston,” in ANAQHMATA EOPTIKA: Studies in Honor of Thomas F.
Mathews, ed. Joseph Alchermes (Mainz: Von Zabern, 2009), 216-22.

32 Bowersock, Mosaics in History, 7-8, fig. 1.3.

234

Plates

1. Keystone with bust of Tyche

Syria, early 2nd century CE
Basalt, 34.6 x 40 x 31 cm

Princeton University Art Museum, Princeton University Archaeological
Expedition to Syria, 1904-5 and 1909, Y1930-456

236

Plates

2. Textile roundel with nimbed bust (possibly Tyche)

Egypt, 5th-7th century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 18x19 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1979-01000

237

Plates

3. Mosaic floor with views of Alexandria and Memphis

Gerasa, Church of Saints Peter and Paul, nave, c. 540 CE
Limestone tesserae, 396.3 x 609.6 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-British School Excavations at Gerasa, 1932.1735

238

Plates

4. Mosaic floor with geometric design

Gerasa, Church of Bishop Paul (Procopius Church), south aisle, c. 526 CE
Limestone tesserae, 294.6 x 373.4 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-British School Excavations at Gerasa, 1929.418

239

Plates

5. Mosaic floor with inscription

Gerasa, Church of Bishop Paul (Procopius Church), nave, c. 526 CE
Limestone tesserae, 100.3 x 340.5 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-British School Excavations at Gerasa, 1929.419

240

Plates

6. Dedicatory inscription from a public building

Gerasa, Forum, 66-67 CE
Limestone, 55 x 96 x 8 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-British School Excavations at Gerasa, 1935.274. 1

241

Plates

7. Jar

Gerasa, Church of Saint Theodore (Room 10), 6th-7th century CE
Terracotta, 8.8 x 9.1 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-British School Excavations at Gerasa, 1929.688

8. Jug

Gerasa, area west of Church of Saint Theodore, 2nd-3rd century CE
Terracotta, 10.1 x 11.4 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-British School Excavations at Gerasa, 1935.293

242

9. Bowls

Gerasa, area west of Church of Saint Theodore, ls,-3rd century CE
Terracotta, a: 4.8 x 10.1 cm, b: 4.5 x 10.5 cm, c: 3.2 x 10.8 cm, d: 3.5 x 13 cm, e: 5.8 x 13.4 cm
Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-British School Excavations at Gerasa, 1935.3 12a-e

243

Plates

10. Candlestick unguentarium

Gerasa, Southwest Cemetery (Tomb 9), 4th-5,h century CE
Glass, 11.8 x4.3 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-British School Excavations at Gerasa, 1935.323

11. Candlestick unguentarium

Gerasa, Southwest Cemetery (Tomb 5), 4,h-5th century CE
Glass, 10 x 2.8 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-British School Excavations at Gerasa, 1935.326

244

Plates

12. Long-necked vase

Gerasa, area west of Church of Saint Theodore, 4,h-5th century CE
Glass, h: 5.8 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-British School Excavations at Gerasa, 1935.320

13. Wide-mouthed jar

Gerasa, area west of Church of Saint Theodore, 5th century CE
Glass, 6.5 x 6 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-British School Excavations at Gerasa, 1935.321

245

Plates

14. Round lamp with eight holes

Gerasa, 5th-6th century CE
Terracotta, diam: 10.2 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-British School Excavations at Gerasa, 1929.651

246

Plates

15. Figurine of nude female

Gerasa, Cave on the Irbid Road
Terracotta, 29.2 x 6.9 x 5.1 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-British School Excavations at Gerasa, 1939.457

16. Figurine of horse and rider

Gerasa, Cave on the Irbid Road
Terracotta, 21.3 x 18 x 4.5 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-British School Excavations at Gerasa, 1939.453

247

Plates

17. Clavus fragment with horses and riders

Egypt, 6th-7,h century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 27.5 x 11.5 cm
Glenn and Rebecca Cahaly, 1986-00300A

248

Plates

18. Uncertain denomination of Neocaesarea

Head of Septimius Severus (obverse) and tetrastyle temple (reverse)
Dura-Europos, near Southwest Tower, Hoard 8/9
Mint: Neocaesarea, Pontus, 205-206 CE
Bronze, 10.88 gm, 12:00, 30.5 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1938.6000.1345

19. Cistophorus of the proconsul C. Claudius Ap. F. Pulcher

Cista mystica (obverse) and serpents flanking a stylized bow case (reverse)

Mint: Pergamum, Mysia, 56-54 BCE
Silver, 11.86 gm, 12:00, 28 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Transfer from Sterling Memorial Library, Yale University, 2001.87.218

20. Cistophorus of Hadrian

Head of Hadrian (obverse) and cult image of Zeus Askraios (reverse)

Mint: Halicarnassus, Caria, overstruck on a cistophorus of M. Antonius, 128-130 CE

Silver, 10.66 gm, 6:00, 28 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ben Lee Damsky, 201 1.155.1

249

Plates

21. Uncertain denomination of Halicarnassus

Bust of Septimius Severus (obverse) and cult image of Zeus Askraios (reverse)
Mint: Halicarnassus, Caria, 193-211 CE
Bronze, 21.67 gm, 12:00, 32 mm
Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ben Lee Damsky, 201 1.155.2

22. Tetradrachm of Alexandria

Head of Commodus (obverse) and emperor making an offering in front of bust of Serapis (reverse)

Mint: Alexandria, Egypt, 183-184 CE
Billon, 11.36 gm, 12:00, 24.5 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Transfer from Sterling Memorial Library,

Yale University, Gift of Dr. Sidney Peerless, 2001.87.3684

23. Uncertain denomination of Nicomedia

Bust of Caracalla (obverse) and Tyche seated with a small octastyle temple in each hand (reverse)

Mint: Nicomedia, 211-215 CE
Bronze, 14.99 gm, 12:00, 28 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund, 2003.12.4

250

Plates

24. Uncertain denomination of Ephesus

Head of Claudius facing bust of Agrippina II (obverse) and Artemis of Ephesus (reverse)

Mint: Ephesus, Ionia, 49-50 CE
Bronze, 7.76 gm, 12:00, 26 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund, 2004.6.168

25. Uncertain denomination of Ephesus

Head of Philippus Junior (obverse) and children playing with astragaloi (knuckle-
bones) before cult image of Artemis of Ephesus (reverse)

Mint: Ephesus, Ionia, 244-247 CE
Bronze, 4.69 gm, 6:00, 21.5 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund, 2004.6.190

26. Uncertain denomination of Ephesus

Head of Valerian (obverse) and Artemis the Huntress (reverse)
Mint: Ephesus, Ionia, 253-260 CE
Bronze, 7.2 gm, 6:00, 28 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund, 2004.6.193

251

Plates

27. Uncertain denomination of Ephesus

Bust of Domitian (obverse) and Artemis of Ephesus standing between
the two Nemeses of Smyrna and Ephesus (reverse)

Mint: Ephesus, Ionia, 92-94 CE
Bronze, 21.14 gm, 6:00, 32 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund, 2004.6.195

28. Uncertain denomination of Sardis

Head of Domitian (obverse) and demos of Sardis clasping hands with demos of Smyrna (reverse)

Mint: Sardis, Lydia, 81-96 CE
Bronze, 10.46 gm, 12:00, 25.5 mm
Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund, 2004.6.393

29. Uncertain denomination of Neocaesarea

Bust of Septimius Severus (obverse) and tetrastyle temple (reverse)
Mint: Neocaesarea, Pontus, 193-211 CE
Copper, 14.5 gm, 12:00, 28 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of James H. Schwartz, 2005.6.325

252

Plates

30. Drachm of Geta

Head of Commodus (obverse) and Mount Argaeus (reverse)
Mint: Caesarea, Cappadocia, 182 CE
Silver, 4.16 gm, 12:00, 20 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund, 2006.61.4

31. Uncertain denomination of Sardis

Bust of Julia Domna (obverse) and figure of Kore (reverse)

Mint: Sardis, Lydia, 193-217 CE
Orichalcum, 12.63 gm, 6:00, 28.6 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund with the assistance of Ben Lee Damsky, 2007.183.83

32. Uncertain denomination of Temenothyrae

Bust of Gallienus (obverse) and ceremonial scene (reverse)

Mint: Temenothyrae, Phrygia, 253-268 CE
Bronze, 20.85 gm, 12:00, 40.6 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund with the assistance of Ben Lee Damsky, 2008.83.133

253

Plates

33. Uncertain denomination of Ephesus

Head of Hadrian (obverse) and tetrastyle temple of Artemis of Ephesus (reverse)
Mint: Ephesus, Ionia, 117-138 CE
Bronze, 7.09 gm, 12:00, 21.5 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Promised Gift of Ben Lee Damsky, ILE2013.17.148

34. Uncertain denomination of Pergamum

Bust of Caracalla (obverse) and emperor worshipping Telesphorus (reverse)
Mint: Pergamum, Mysia, 214-215 CE
Bronze, 44.97 gm, 6:00, 43.8 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Promised Gift of Ben Lee Damsky, ILE2013. 17.331

254

Plates

35. Votive stele

Tunisia, 2nd century CE
Limestone, 75 x 42 x 10.2 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ambassador and Mrs. William L. Eagleton Jr., BA 1948, 1984.79.1

255

Plates

36. Uncertain denomination of Temenothyrae

Bust of the senate of Temenothyrae (obverse) and drunken Hercules (reverse)
Mint: Temenothyrae, Phrygia, 244-249 CE
Orichalcum, 34.03 gm, 5:00, 44.1 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Promised Gift of Ben Lee Damsky, ILE2013. 17.98

37. Statue of Hercules

Tunisia, lst-3rd century CE
Marble, h: 29 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ambassador and Mrs. William L. Eagleton Jr., BA 1948, 1987.37.1

256

Plates

38. Relief of Hercules

Dura-Europos, House G5-C10, 2nd-mid-3rd century CE
Plaster, 23.5 x 13.5 x 7.5 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1935.50

39. Relief of Hercules

Dura-Europos, Block L8, 2nd-mid-3rd century CE
Limestone, 31.5x16 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1935.51

257

Plates

40. Textile fragment with Hercules

Egypt, 4th-5th century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 13.5 x 12.8 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1988-05000

258

Plates

41. Textile fragment with dancing man holding shield

Egypt, 5th century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 13 x 7.5 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1984-001 50B

42. Clavus fragment with nude warrior, foliate background

Egypt, 5th century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 16 x 12 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1984-00040

259

Plates

43. Ring with intaglio

Dura-Europos, House B2-D10, 100-256 CE
Silver and carnelian, 2.5 x 2.8 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1933.615

44. Ring

Dura-Europos, lst-3rd century CE
Silver, 2.5 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1934.641

260

Plates

45. Intaglio with figure of Diana

Dura-Europos, Block N8, 2nd century CE
Nicolo, 1.4 x 0.3 x 1.5 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1932.1679
Image on right produced using Reflectance Transformation Imaging and digital
enhancement to create a positive version of the carved surface.

46. Intaglio with figure of Tyche (Fortuna)

Dura-Europos, Temple of Atargatis, 2nd century CE
Sardonyx, 1.2 x 1.8 x 0.4 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1938.4332
Image on right is an impression of the carved surface.

261

Plates

47. Intaglio with figure of Triton

Tunisia, 1st century BCE-2nd century CE
Carnelian, 0.7 x 1 x 0.3 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ambassador and Mrs. William L. Eagleton Jr., BA 1948, 1984.79.6
Image on right produced using Reflectance Transformation Imaging and digital
enhancement to create a positive version of the carved surface.

48. Intaglio with figure of Minerva

Tunisia, 1st century BCE-2nd century CE
Carnelian, 1 x 0.9 x 0.2 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ambassador and Mrs. William L. Eagleton Jr., BA 1948, 1984.79.7
Image on right produced using Reflectance Transformation Imaging and digital
enhancement to create a positive version of the carved surface.

262

Plates

49. Intaglio with seated figure

Tunisia, 1st century BCE-2nd century CE
Gray stone, 0.9 x 0.6 x 0.1 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ambassador and Mrs. William L. Eagleton Jr., BA 1948, 1984.79.8
Image on right produced using Reflectance Transformation Imaging and digital
enhancement to create a positive version of the carved surface.

50. Intaglio with bust of Mars

Anatolia, 1st century BCE-2nd century CE
Carnelian, 1.2 x 0.9 x 0.2 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ambassador and Mrs. William L. Eagleton Jr., BA 1948, 1984.79.9
Image on right produced using Reflectance Transformation Imaging and digital
enhancement to create a positive version of the carved surface.

263

Plates

51. Intaglio with eagle between two standards

Syria, lst-2nd century CE
Carnelian, 1.6x1. 3x0. 5 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ambassador and Mrs. William L. Eagleton Jr., BA 1948, 1986.17.4
Image on right produced using Reflectance Transformation Imaging and digital
enhancement to create a positive version of the carved surface.

52. Intaglio with figure of Mercury

Syria, lst-2nd century CE
Carnelian, 1.2 x 0.9 x 0.3 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ambassador and Mrs. William L. Eagleton Jr., BA 1948, 1986.17.12
Image on right produced using Reflectance Transformation Imaging and digital
enhancement to create a positive version of the carved surface.

264

Plates

53. Intaglio with figure of Tyche (Fortuna)

Syria, lst-2nd century CE
Agate, 1.3 x 0.9 x 0.3 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ambassador and Mrs. William L. Eagleton Jr., BA 1948, 1986.17.14
Image on right produced using Reflectance Transformation Imaging and digital
enhancement to create a positive version of the carved surface.

54. Intaglio with portrait head

Syria, lst-2nd century CE
Carnelian, 1.1 x 1 x 0.3 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ambassador and Mrs. William L. Eagleton Jr., BA 1948, 1986.17.19
Image on right produced using Reflectance Transformation Imaging and digital
enhancement to create a positive version of the carved surface.

265

Plates

55. Intaglio with figure of Ceres

Syria, lst-3rd century CE
Carnelian, 1.2 x 1.1 x 0.1 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ambassador and Mrs. William L. Eagleton Jr., BA 1948, 1986.17.22
Image on right produced using Reflectance Transformation Imaging and digital
enhancement to create a positive version of the carved surface.

56. Intaglio with figure of Mars

Syria, lst-3rd century CE
Carnelian, 1.3 x 1 x 0.5 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ambassador and Mrs. William L. Eagleton Jr., BA 1948, 1986.17.23
Image on right produced using Reflectance Transformation Imaging and digital
enhancement to create a positive version of the carved surface.

266

Plates

57. Intaglio with two animals flanking a tree

Syria, lst-3rd century CE
Jasper, 1.3 x 0.9 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ambassador and Mrs. William L. Eagleton Jr., BA 1948, 1986.100.3
Image on right produced using Reflectance Transformation Imaging and digital
enhancement to create a positive version of the carved surface.

58. Intaglio with standing female figure holding offering dish

Syria, lst-3rd century CE
Carnelian, 0.8 x 1.2 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ambassador and Mrs. William L. Eagleton Jr., BA 1948, 1986.100.35
Image on right produced using Reflectance Transformation Imaging and digital
enhancement to create a positive version of the carved surface.

267

Plates

59. Painted Latin inscription

Dura-Europos, Principia (“Praetorium”), 222-223 CE
Paint on plaster, 82.6 x 63.5 x 6.2 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1932.1207a

268

Plates

60. Pierced rosette from a horse trapping

Dura-Europos, House Gl, 165-256 CE
Bronze, 6.3 x 0.4 x 8.9 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1932.1434

61. Horse trapping

2nd_3rd century CE
Bronze, 11.2 x 8.6 x 0.3 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Dr. and Mrs. Jerry Nagler, 2001.1 18.1

269

Plates

62. Openwork baldric fastener

Dura-Europos, Block J7, 165-256 CE
Bronze, 1 x 5.4 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1935.41

63. Openwork baldric fastener

Dura-Europos, Block J8, 165-256 CE
Bronze, 2 x 5.2 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1938.2179

270

Plates

64. Military belt plate

Dura-Europos, 165-256 CE
Bronze, 2.7 x 5.3 x 0.4 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1938.2163

65. Buckle with glass inlay

Dura-Europos, Block E7, 165-256 CE
Bronze and glass, 4.5 x 8.6 x 2.5 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1932.1412

271

Plates

66. Tetradrachm of Philip I

Bust of Philip I (obverse) and eagle (reverse)

Dura-Europos, House L8-A4, Hoard 10
Mint: Rome (struck for Syria), 244 CE
Silver, 13.34 gm, 12:00, 25.5 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1938.6000.701

67. Tetradrachm of Philip I

Bust of Philip I (obverse) and eagle (reverse)

Dura-Europos, House L8-A4, Hoard 10
Mint: Antioch, Syria, 248 CE
Silver, 10.73 gm, 12:00, 26.5 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1938.6000.716

68. Uncertain denomination of Nicaea

Bust of Macrianus (obverse) and city walls of Nicaea (reverse)
Mint: Nicaea, 261-262 CE
Copper, 7.32 gm, 1:00, 24 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund, 2004.6.2298

272

Plates

69. Tetradrachm of Perseus

Head of Perseus (obverse) and eagle (reverse)

Mint: Macedonia, 178-168 BCE
Silver, 15.37 gm, 12:00, 31 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund, 2004.6.1620

70. Tetradrachm of Amphipolis

Head of Artemis Tauropolos (obverse) and club surrounded by oak leaf crown (reverse)
Mint: Amphipolis, Macedonia, 158-149 BCE
Silver, 16.88 gm, 2:00, 31.5 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund, 2004.6.1432

71. Uncertain denomination of Nicaea

Head of Commodus (obverse) and table with two prize crowns from games of imperial cult (reverse)

Mint: Nicaea, 180-192 CE
Copper, 15.71 gm, 7:00, 29.5 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund, 2004.6.2280

273

Plates

72. Uncertain denomination of Ancyra

Head of Commodus (obverse) and octastyle temple (reverse)
Mint: Ancyra, Galatia, 180-192 CE
Copper, 1 1.9 gm, 6:00, 28 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund, 2004.6.3513

73. Tetradrachm of Alexandria

Bust of Antoninus Pius (obverse) and she-wolf with Romulus and Remus (reverse)

Mint: Alexandria, Egypt, 150-151 CE
Billon, 13.01 gm, 12:00, 23 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Transfer from Sterling Memorial Library, Yale University, 2001.87.3671

74. Uncertain denomination of Ephesus

Bust of Septimius Severus (obverse) and she-wolf with Romulus and Remus (reverse)

Mint: Ephesus, Ionia, 202-21 1 CE
Copper, 5.89 gm, 6:00, 22 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund, 2004.6.2656

274

Plates

75. Handle base from a situla

lst-3rd century CE
Bronze, 7.8 x 5.6 x 0.4 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ruth Elizabeth White, 1988.80.4

76. Faucet or spigot in the form of a bearded male head

2nd century CE
Bronze, 5.5 x 5.5 x 3.8 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ruth Elizabeth White, 1988.80.25

275

Plates

77. Wall painting with female face

Dura-Europos, Roman Bath (E3), 165-256 CE
Paint on plaster, 20 x 23.5 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1929.353

78. Wall painting with human face

Dura-Europos, Roman Bath (E3), 165-256 CE
Paint on plaster, 15.5 x 19.5 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1929.354

276

Plates

79. Portrait of a priest of the imperial cult

125-150 CE

Marble, 48.5 x 40.5 x 36 cm

Princeton University Art Museum, Museum Purchase, Gift of John B. Elliott, Class of 1951, Y1990-3

277

Plates

80. Portrait of an official

Aphrodisias, Baths of Hadrian, late 5th-early 6th century CE
Marble (from Goktepe, near Aphrodisias), h: 21 cm
Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Gift of Gerome M. Eisenberg and Richard Titelman, 1971.18

278

Plates

81. Portrait of an intellectual

Athens, 275-325 CE
Marble, h: 46.3 cm

Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Purchased from J. J. Klejman, 62.465

279

Plates

82. Portrait of a woman

Antioch, 117-138 CE
Marble, 24.3 x 17.8 x 22.7 cm

Princeton Art Museum, Gift of the Committee for the Excavation of Antioch to Princeton University, 2000-51

280

Plates

83. Colossal portrait of a woman

Antioch, late 2nd century CE
Marble, 36.8 x 27.5 x 27.4 cm

Princeton Art Museum, Gift of the Committee for the Excavation of Antioch to Princeton University, 2000-50

281

Plates

84. Portrait of a man in a toga

Britain, late 4th century CE
Chalk, 40.1 x 31.2 x 15.7 cm

Princeton University Art Museum, Museum Purchase, Y1943-90

282

Plates

85. Inscription to Julia Domna

Dura-Europos, Temple of Artemis, 193-217 CE
Marble, 48.3 x 63.5 x 15.9 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1930.626

283

Plates

86. Sestertius of Julia Domna

Bust of Julia Domna (obverse) and empress in the guise of Pax (reverse)

Mint: Rome, 209-211 CE
Orichalcum, 24.06 gm, 12:00, 32.7 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund with the assistance of Ben Lee Damsky, 2007.183.82

87. Head of a doll resembling Julia Domna

3rd century CE
Ivory, 3.8 x 2.8 x 2.8 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Thomas T. Solley, BA 1950, 2002.15.1

284

Plates

88. Portrait of Julia Domna

203-217 CE

Marble, 35 x 26.7 x 24. 1 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund, 2010.143.1

285

Plates

89. Uncertain denomination of Marcianopolis

Heads of Septimius Severus and Julia Domna (obverse) and standing figure of Tyche (reverse)

Mint: Marcianopolis, Thracia, 202-205 CE
Orichalcum, 11.81 gm, 12:00, 27.5 mm
Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund, 2004.6.452

90. Uncertain denomination of Nicopolis ad Istrum

Heads of Septimius Severus and Caracalla (obverse) and inscription within a wreath (reverse)
Mint: Nicopolis ad Istrum, Moesia, 198-211 CE
Orichalcum, 9.83 gm, 7:00, 26 mm
Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund, 2004.6.416

91. Sestertius of Geta as Caesar

Head of Geta (obverse) and Caracalla and Geta with Victory and bound captive (reverse)

Mint: Rome, 200-202 CE
Orichalcum, 22.92 gm, 12:00, 32 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund with the assistance of Ben Lee Damsky, 2008.83.143

286

Plates

92. Denarius of Caracalla

Head of Caracalla (obverse) and standing figure of Moneta (reverse)

Mint: Laodicea ad Mare, Syria, 198 CE
Silver, 3.12 gm, 12:00, 19.7 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund with the assistance of Ben Lee Damsky, 2009.110.107

93. Denarius of Julia Domna

Head of Julia Domna (obverse) and standing figure of Venus (reverse)

Mint: Alexandria, Egypt, 193-217 CE
Silver, 2.96 gm, 6:00, 17 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Ruth Elizabeth White Fund with the assistance of Ben Lee Damsky, 2007.183.80

94. Aureus of Septimius Severus

Head of Septimius Severus (obverse) and standing figure of Victus (reverse)

Mint: Rome, 193-194 CE
Gold, 7.22 gm, 6:00, 21 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Transfer from Yale University Library, Numismatic Collection, 2001.87.2736

287

Plates

95. Cistophorus of Septimius Severus

Head of Septimius Severus (obverse) and eagle between two signa (reverse)
Mint: Caesarea, Cappadocia, 198 CE
Silver, 7.88 gm, 6:00, 24.3 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ben Lee Damsky, ILE2013. 17.280

96. Aureus of Caracalla

Head of Caracalla (obverse) and Caracalla making a presentation in front of the Temple of Vesta (reverse)

Mint: Rome, 214-215 CE
Gold, 7.27 gm, 1:00, 20.3 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ben Lee Damsky, ILE2013. 17.300

288

Plates

97. Sestertius of Caracalla

Head of Caracalla (obverse) and standing figure of Mars (reverse)
Mint: Rome, 213 CE
Orichalcum, 21.12 gm, 1:00, 31.8 mm
Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ben Lee Damsky, ILE2013. 17.314

98. Uncertain denomination of Marcianopolis

Heads of Julia Domna and Caracalla (obverse) and standing figure of Tyche (reverse)

Mint: Marcianopolis, Thracia, 211-217 CE
Orichalcum, 14.09 gm, 6:00, 27.5 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Transfer from Yale University Library, Numismatic Collection, 2001.87.9761

289

Plates

99. Bead necklace

Egypt, 1st century CE
Glass, length: 50.8 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of David Dows, PhD 1908, through Ludlow Bull, 1945.161

100. Bead necklace

Egypt, 1st century CE
Glass, length: 43.2 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of David Dows, PhD 1908, through Ludlow Bull, 1945.162

290

Plates

101. Bottle

Dura-Europos, 2nd-mid-3rd century CE
Glass, 23.1 x 19 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1929.422

102. Vase

France, 2nd-3rd century CE
Glass, 6.7 x 2.5 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of E. Francis Riggs, BA 1909, and T. Lawrason Riggs, BA 1910, 1929.628

291

Plates

103. Bottle

Kurcoglu, lst-2nd century CE
Glass, 13x6 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Exchange with the Oriental Institute,
University of Chicago, Kurcoglu Excavation, 1940.635

104. Unguentarium

Kurcoglu, 2nd century CE
Glass, 6.8 x 3.3 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Exchange with the Oriental Institute,
University of Chicago, Kurcoglu Excavation, 1940.640

292

Plates

105. Candlestick unguentarium

France, 2nd-3rd century CE
Glass, 10.1 x 3.2 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of E. Francis Riggs, BA 1909, and T. Lawrason Riggs, BA 1910, 1929.629

106. Tumbler

Syria, 5th century CE
Glass, 11.8 x 7.6 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Anna Rosalie Mansfield Collection, 1930.397

293

Plates

107. Double head flask

Syria, 3rd-4th century CE
Glass, 8.8 x 4.2 x 4.3 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Anna Rosalie Mansfield Collection, 1930.413

294

Plates

108. Carinated millefiori bowl

Syria, 1st century CE
Glass, 4.5 x 10 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Anna Rosalie Mansfield Collection, 1930.422

109. Textile medallion of geometric/cross motif

Egypt, 8th-9th century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 3 x 3.5 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1979-00000

295

Plates

110. Cup

Cologne, 2nd century CE
Glass (free-blown), 6 x 9.1 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Leonard C. Hanna Jr., Class of 1913, Fund, 1992.15.1

111. Patella cup

1st century BCE- 1st century CE
Glass, 4.2 x 8.1 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Hobart and Edward Small Moore Memorial
Collection, Bequest of Mrs. William H. Moore, 1955.6.24

296

Plates

112. Ribbed bowl

1st century CE
Glass, 5.5 x 7.3 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Hobart and Edward Small Moore Memorial Collection,
Bequest of Mrs. William H. Moore, 1955.6.41

113. Agate glass bottle

Syria, 1st century CE
Glass, h: 9.1 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Anna Rosalie Mansfield Collection, 1930.460

297

Plates

114. Seasons beaker

Eastern Mediterranean, 1st century CE
Glass (mold-blown), 19 x 9.4 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Hobart and Edward Small Moore Memorial
Collection, Bequest of Mrs. William H. Moore, 1955.6.49

298

Plates

115. Gaza amphora (Late Roman Amphora 4)

Southern Palestine/Israel, 4th century CE
Terracotta, 54.5 x 21.9 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Whiting Palestinian Collection, 1912.911

299

Plates

116. North African amphora

Syria, 4th century CE
Terracotta, 90.8 x 18.7 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1938.5999.5333

300

Plates

117. Amphora (Middle Roman Amphora 7)

Dura-Europos, 200-256 CE
Terracotta, 78.1 x 27 x 22.9 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1938.5999.4288

301

Plates

118. Bowl (Gallic Relief Ware)

Melun, 75-175 CE
Potter: Censorinus of Lezoux
Terracotta, 13.3 x24.1 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Rebecca Darlington Stoddard, 1913.535

302

Plates

1 19. Mold for Gallic Relief Ware bowl

100-150 CE

Potter: Eppillius of Lezoux
Terracotta, 11.4x21 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Rebecca Darlington Stoddard, 1913.538

120. Mold for Gallic Relief Ware bowl

Early 2nd century CE
Terracotta, 21 x 11.4 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Rebecca Darlington Stoddard, 1913.539a

303

Plates

121. Mold for lamp (Type IIA)

Tunisia, 420-500 CE
Plaster, 15x5x21 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ambassador and Mrs. William L. Eagleton Jr., BA 1948, 1988.75.6

122. Lamp (Type IIA)

Tunisia, 420-500 CE
Terracotta, 3.5x8.3x14 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ambassador and Mrs. William L. Eagleton Jr., BA 1948, 1989.69.12

304

Plates

123. Bowl (Arretine, Italian Sigillata)

20 BCE- 10 CE
Potter: Sextus Annius
Terracotta, 5 x 9.8 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Rebecca Darlington Stoddard, 1913.514

124. Cup (Eastern Sigillata A)

Syria, late 1st century BCE-early 1st century CE
Terracotta, 5.9 x 10.8 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Rebecca Darlington Stoddard, 1913.516

305

Plates

125. Pelike (African Red Slip)

Late 2lld-3rd century CE
Terracotta, 14.8 x 11.1 x8.1 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Rebecca Darlington Stoddard, 1913.546

306

Plates

126. Bowl (Corinthian Relief Ware)

Corinth, 3rd century CE
Terracotta, 4.8 x 7.1 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Rebecca Darlington Stoddard, 1913.209

127. Jar (Knidian Relief Ware)

Smyrna, 3rd century CE
Terracotta, 10.3 x 6.4 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Rebecca Darlington Stoddard, 1913.21 1

307

Plates

128. Sestertius of Trajan

Bust of Trajan (obverse) and figure of Via Traiana (reverse)

Mint: Rome, 112-114 CE
Orichalcum, 24.48 gm, 6:00, 33.5 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1938.6000.984

129. Sestertius of Trajan

Bust of Trajan (obverse) and figure of Via Traiana (reverse)

Mint: Rome, 1 12-1 14 CE
Orichalcum, 28.06 gm, 5:00, 33.5 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Transfer from Sterling Memorial Library, Yale University,
Gift of Professor Tracy Peck, LLD 1861, MA 1864, 2001.87.7474

130. Stater of Rhescuporis III

Head of Rhescuporis III (obverse) and bust of Elagabalus (?) (reverse)

Mint: Bosporus, 219 CE
Gold, 7.66 gm, 12:00, 19.5 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Transfer from Sterling Memorial Library, Yale University, 2001.87.1 1021

308

Plates

131. Textile fragment

Egypt, 5th century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 22 x 23.5 cm
Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of the Olsen Foundation, 1956.8.3

132. Textile fragment

Egypt, 4th century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 20.2 x 21.5 cm
Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of the Olsen Foundation, 1956.8.10

309

Plates

133. Textile panel from a large tunic

Egypt, 4th century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 142 x 99.7 cm
Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of the Olsen Foundation, 1956.8.5

310

Plates

134. Child’s tunic

Egypt, 5th-6th century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 129 x 101 cm
Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of the Olsen Foundation, 1956.8.23

311

Plates

135. Child’s tunic

Egypt, 4th century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 108 x 79.5 cm
Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Fred Olsen, 1956.33.90

312

Plates

» i ^ jjt r'V* , " '4 f Pm \ w- > >,

v- - A * * . \ . ■ ^ • >-•> 4, dgfpi

„ , f ;, f«'^a l'^5- t V? ?>< ^

• ' j. ./’,■ v v ? kY '* •’ >*

• I.- ^ ..|y/ -**4. . V V> "

^ ,

. r'4)

- ' iV K’ ^r- A

* t I--'

I <

v.*‘. ,, >-'

; 'hi?*-4

pg^gjggggHg,
'•f/.t-ii’O- v\ i

^i. v

»•*'* ^ .V — -X

fat)'

sre > . i ?5

* 1 v

136. Child’s tunic

Egypt, 6th-8th century CE
Linen, 66 x 84 cm

Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1982-00413

313

Plates

137. Funerary relief of woman holding spindle

Palmyra, 125-150 CE
Limestone, 54.5 x 44 x 18 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Edgar Munroe, 1954.30.1

314

Plates

138. Relief with animals

Egypt, 6th century CE
Limestone, 35.5 x 74.3 x 8.5 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of the Olsen Foundation, 1955.60.5

139. Relief with confronting beasts

Egypt, 6th century CE
Limestone, 29.4 x 56.4 x 5.5 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of the Olsen Foundation, 1955.60.12

315

140. Textile band with roundels filled with lions, birds, foliage, dancers

Egypt, 5th-6,h century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 50.3 x 17.8 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1988-00600

Plates

141. Fragmentary tunic roundels

Egypt, 5th-6,h century CE

Wool on undyed linen, 1: 12.5 x 14 cm, r: 13.5 x 14 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1978-00450/00450

142. Textile fragment with roundels, tree of life, flowers, Eros figures

Egypt, 6th century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 28.5 x 28.5 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1984-00500A

317

Plates

143. Textile fragment with tree of life, human figures, bird

Egypt, 5th-6,h century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 26 x 24 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1984-00500B

144. Textile fragment with fruit basket

Egypt, 6th century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 24 x 21 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 2013-00600B

318

Plates

145. Relief with acanthus leaves

Egypt, 6th century CE
Limestone, 21 x 17.3 x 68 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of the Olsen Foundation, 1956.8.38

319

Plates

146. Textile fragment with rooster

Egypt, 5th-6,h century CE
Wool on linen, 18x21 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1982-02500

147. Textile fragment with heraldic birds

Egypt, 7th-8,h century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 26x11 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1978-00350

320

Plates

148. Textile band with stylized birds and foliage

Egypt, 7th century CE
Wool on linen, 24 x 26.5 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1980-00250

149. Relief with dove and grapevine

Egypt, 5th-6,h century CE
Limestone, 19.5 x 15.5 x 46 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of the Olsen Foundation, 1956.8.41

321

Plates

150. Clavus fragment with apotropaic knot

Egypt, 5th century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 28.5 x 14.5 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1982-00100

151. Textile roundel with interlace

Egypt, 4th century CE
Wool on linen, 21 x 26 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1983-00600

322

Plates

152. Textile band with hares, birds, fruits, leaves

Egypt, late 5th century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 62 x 6 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1979-00250/250

323

Plates

153. Textile fragment with hare and grapevine

Egypt, 5th-6,h century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 11x11.5 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1979-00350

154. Textile fragment with running hare

Egypt, 5th-6,h century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 12.5 x 12.5 cm
Haig and Leslie Tellalian, 1984-00050A

324

Plates

155. Pelike (Eastern Sigillata A)

Syria, 1st century CE
Terracotta, 25.5 x 14 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Whiting Palestinian Collection, 1912.290

156. Jug (Eastern Sigillata A)

Syria, mid- 1st century BCE- 1st century CE
Terracotta, 19.5 x 16.6 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Whiting Palestinian Collection, 1912.292

325

Plates

157. Pitcher (Eastern Sigillata A)

Syria, 1st century CE
Terracotta, 17 x 9.2 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Whiting Palestinian Collection, 1912.295

158. Bowl (Eastern Sigillata A)

Syria, late 1st century BCE-early 1st century CE
Terracotta, 9x15 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Whiting Palestinian Collection, 1912.297

326

Plates

159. Dish (Arretine, Italian Sigillata)

Syria, late 1st century BCE-early 1st century CE
Potter: Rasinus
Terracotta, 3.3 x 17 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Whiting Palestinian Collection, 1912.301

160. Bowl

Late 1st century BCE-lst century CE
Terracotta, 4.8 x 9.2 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Rebecca Darlington Stoddard, 1913.583

327

Plates

161. Jar

Cologne, mid-3rd-early 4th century CE
Terracotta, 14 x 9.8 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Rebecca Darlington Stoddard, 1913.545

162. Bowl

Late 2lld-3rd century CE
Terracotta, 9.2 x 16.8 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Rebecca Darlington Stoddard, 1913.540

328

Plates

163. Cookware bowl with lid (African Red Slip)

Tunisia, late 2nd-mid-3rd century CE
Terracotta, 7 x 17.8 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of John Crockett, 2008.216.40a, b

164. Bowl (African Red Slip)

Tunisia, mid-2nd century CE
Terracotta, 4.5 x 25.7 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of John Crockett, 2008.216.2

329

Plates

165. Piriform jug (African Red Slip)

Tunisia, 3rd century CE
Terracotta, 16.2 x 9 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ambassador and Mrs. William L. Eagleton Jr., BA 1948, 1984.79.2

330

Plates

166. Piriform jug (African Red Slip)

3rd century CE
Terracotta, h: 15.9 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Rebecca Darlington Stoddard, 1913.547

331

Plates

167. Molded head-flask (African Red Slip)

Tunisia, 3rd-4th century CE
Terracotta, 19 x 10.1 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ambassador and Mrs. William L. Eagleton Jr., BA 1948, 1980.33.3

332

Plates

168. Dancers and birds in heraldic pairs

Egypt, 8th-9th century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 32.5 x 19 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1980-00650

333

Plates

169. Textile roundel with eight-pointed star, tree of life, dancing figures

Egypt, 6th century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 22 x 22 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1984-00250

334

Plates

170. Textile fragment with dancing figures and leaping hare

Egypt, 5th-6th century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 35 x 7.5 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1986-00300C

335

Plates

171. Pitcher with Bacchic scenes

Entrains-sur-Nohain, 2nd-3rd century CE
Silver with traces of gilding, 15.9 x 1 1 x 9.4 cm
Walters Art Museum, Acquired by Henry Walters, 57.708

336

Plates

172. Figurine of a seated dancer

Eastern Greece (?), late 4th century CE
Silver with gold inlay, h: 12 cm
Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Frederick Brown Fund, 69.72

337

Plates

173. Lar

1st century CE
Bronze, 10 x 5.3 x 2.7 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Bequest of Chester D. Tripp, BS 1903, 1976.40.1

174. Plaque with female figure

Alexandria, 4th century CE
Bone, 18.6 x 6.2 x 2. 1 cm

Walters Art Museum, Acquired by Henry Walters, 1931.71.34

338

Plates

175. Man with cloak and pointed hood {genius cucullatus )

2nd century CE

Bronze with copper inlay, 12 x 3.5 x 1.5 cm
Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Thomas T. Solley, BA 1950, 2002.15.13

339

Plates

176. Figurine of woman and two children

Dura-Europos, Block L8, 70-200 CE
Terracotta with traces of white slip, 15.7 x 7.3 x 2.9 cm
Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1935.57

177. Figurine of Mercury

Dura-Europos, Necropolis (Tomb 24), 2nd century CE
Terracotta, 30.1 x 12.4 x 6.2 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1938.4965

340

Plates

178. Wall painting with banquet scene

Dura-Europos, House M7-W6, south wall, 194 CE
Paint on plaster, 148.6 x 183.5 x 12.7 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Yale-French Excavations at Dura-Europos, 1938.5999.1147

341

Plates

179. Funerary stele of Helene

Antioch, 2nd century CE
Marble, 12.6 x 10.1 x 2.9 cm

Princeton University Art Museum, Gift of the Committee for the
Excavation of Antioch to Princeton University, 2000-94

180. Funerary stele of Eubolas

Antioch, lst-early 2nd century CE
Marble, 20.2 x 29.4 x 1.8 cm

Princeton University Art Museum, Gift of the Committee for the
Excavation of Antioch to Princeton University, 2000-92

342

Plates

181. Funerary relief with banquet scene

Palmyra, 200-250 CE
Limestone, 52.7 x 56.2 x 8.9 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Purchased for the University by Prof. Rostovtzeff, 1931.138

343

Plates

182. Mosaic with personifications of Pleasure and Wealth

Eastern Mediterranean, 6th century CE
Stone and glass tesserae, 134.6 x 83.8 cm
Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Gift of George D. and Margo Behrakis, 2006.848

344

Plates

183. Two fragments of decorated tunic

Egypt, 7th-8th century CE

Wool on undyed linen, a: 44.5 x 43 cm; b: 46 x 43 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1981-01200

345

Plates

184. Uncertain denomination of Nicopolis ad Istrum

Head of Gordian III (obverse) and tetrastyle temple with figure (Serapis or Hades?) (reverse)
Mint: Nicopolis ad Istrum, Moesia, 238-244 CE
Copper, 12.01 gm, 12:00, 27.00 mm
Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of James H. Schwartz, 2005.6.150

185. Dupondius of Augustus

Bust of Augustus (obverse) and altar of Lugdunum (reverse)

Mint: Lugdunum, Gallia Narbonensis, 9-14 CE
Orichalcum, 12.67 gm, 12:00, 27.5 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Transfer from Sterling Memorial Library, Yale University, 2001.87.2804

346

Plates

186. Nummus of Constantine II

Bust of Constantine II (obverse) and altar surmounted by a star (reverse)

Mint: Londinium, Britannia, 320-324 CE
Argentiferous bronze, 3.02 gm, 6:00, 17.9 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Transfer from Sterling Memorial Library, Yale University, 2001.87.8345

187. Nummus of Constantine I

Head of Constantine I (obverse) and Sol with radiate crown, standing and holding globe (reverse)

Mint: Londinium, Britannia, 316-317 CE
Argentiferous bronze, 3.62 gm, 7:00, 25.6 mm

Yale University Art Gallery, Transfer from Sterling Memorial Library, Yale University, 2001.87.15970

347

Plates

188. Fragment of cushion cover with dancing figure, bowls of fruit

Egypt, 5th-6,h century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 73 x 62 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1994-07500

348

Plates

189. Clavus with seated saint and hare

Egypt, c. 6th-7th century CE
Wool on undyed linen, 42 x 9 cm
Donald and Barbara Tellalian, 1986-00300B

349

Plates

190. Corinthian column capital

2nd-3rd century CE
Marble, 26.8 x 25 x 19 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ruth Elizabeth White, 1988.80.22

191. Corinthian column capital

2nd-3rd century CE
Marble, 25.5 x 26 x 18.5 cm

Yale University Art Gallery, Gift of Ruth Elizabeth White, 1988.80.23

350

Contributors

Lisa R. Brody is Associate Curator of Ancient Art at Yale University Art Gallery and has excavated
in the United States, Portugal, Greece, and Turkey She has a particular interest in iconography and
cult in the Greek East and Asia Minor, and her publications include Aphrodisias III: The Aphrodite of
Aphrodisias (2007). Together with Gail L. Hoffman she curated the exhibition Dura-Europos: Cross-
roads of Antiquity (2011) at the McMullen Museum of Art and at NYU’s Institute for the Study of the
Ancient World (there called Edge of Empires: Pagans, Jews, and Christians at Roman Dura-Europos )
and edited its accompanying publication.

Kimberly Cassibry is Assistant Professor of Ancient Art at Wellesley College. Her work focuses on
commemoration in the Roman provinces, from arch monuments to souvenirs, and on nineteenth- cen-
tury imperial excavations of provincial sites. She earned her PhD from the University of California,
Berkeley, in 2009, with a dissertation entitled “The Allure of Monuments in the Roman Empire: Pro-
vincial Perspectives on the Triumphal Arch.” A member of the Getty Foundations “The Arts of Rome’s
Provinces” traveling seminar (2010-13) and a fellow at the Metropolitan Museum of Art (2013-14), she
is currently writing on the entanglement of Celtic and Roman traditions in ancient France, Germany,
and Britain.

Lucinda Dirven is Associate Professor of Ancient History at the University of Amsterdam. Educated
as an art historian and historian of religion, she studies their interchange, particularly in the Roman
and Parthian Near East where Roman traditions and practices interacted with local cultures. She most
recently edited Hatra: Politics, Culture and Religion between Parthia and Rome (2013) and presently is
preparing a monograph on the sculptures from Hatra.

Robin Fleming is Professor of Early Medieval History at Boston College. She writes on the history of
Viking, Anglo-Saxon, and Anglo-Norman England, and her most recent book is Britain after Rome:
The Fall and Rise, 400-1070 (2010). She is currently investigating Britain in the century before and after
Rome’s fall, attempting to determine how ways of life changed once the Roman economy collapsed and
connections to the wider Roman world began to unravel. In 2013 she was made a MacArthur Fellow.

Tyler V. Franconi is currently finishing his doctorate in archaeology at the University of Oxford,
entitled “The Economic Development of the Rhine River Basin in the Roman Period (30 BC to AD
406).” He is involved in archaeological fieldwork in Italy and Tunisia and maintains academic interests
in the ancient economy, Roman religion, and the Roman military.

Elizabeth M. Greene is Assistant Professor of Roman Archaeology in the Department of Classical
Studies at the University of Western Ontario. Her research concentrates on the archaeology of the
Roman West and the material remains of the Roman army on the frontiers. A member of the archae-
ological team at Vindolanda near Hadrian’s Wall in England since 2002, she is currently co-director
of the Vindolanda Field School.

Gail L. Hoffman is Assistant Professor of Classical Studies at Boston College. She studies the cultur-
al and artistic interactions between Greece and the Near East during the Early Iron Age. Analyzing the
material evidence for these interactions in Imports and Immigrants: Near Eastern Contacts with Iron
Age Crete (1997), she explored similar issues from a methodological and theoretical perspective in the
museum exhibition and catalogue Dura-Europos: Crossroads of Antiquity (2011) with Lisa R. Brody.

Alvaro Ibarra is Assistant Professor of Art History at the College of Charleston and is the author
of “Roman Soliloquies: Monumental Interventions in the Vacant Landscape in the Late Republic and
Early Empire” in Approaching Monumentality in Archaeology (2014). His research interests revolve
around reassessing cultures and identities in the Roman provinces through material culture.

237

Simon James is Professor of Archaeology at the University of Leicester. Formerly an educational cu-
rator at the British Museum, he specializes in the archaeology of the Roman military and its antago-
nists, in 201 1 publishing an overview of the subject, Rome and the Sword. He has studied the military
archaeology of Dura-Europos for 30 years, both at the site itself and through the Yale expedition ar-
chive, publishing Final Report 7 on the arms and armor (2004). His current research on Dura’s Roman
military base is part of a wider study of civil/military interactions in the city.

Andrew C. Johnston is Assistant Professor of Classics at Yale University and is currently complet-
ing his first book, The Sons of Remus: Identity in Roman Spain and Gaul, which is under contract
with Harvard University Press. Apart from the western provinces, his research interests include social
memory and the imagination of selves and others at Rome, especially as relates to ethnography and
geography, and the archaeology of central Italy.

Christine Kondoleon is George and Margo Behrakis Senior Curator of Greek and Roman Art at
the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston and her particular field of expertise is later Roman and early Byz-
antine art and mosaics. She was an associate professor of art at Williams College (1982-95) where
she also served as chair of the department and acting director of the Clark Art Institute Graduate
Program. She has taught at Harvard University and Tuffs University and was formerly the curator of
Greek and Roman art at the Worcester Art Museum where she organized the exhibition Antioch: The
Lost Ancient City (2000).

David J. Mattingly is Professor of Roman Archaeology at the University of Leicester and has carried
out field projects in Britain, Italy, Libya, Tunisia, and Jordan. He is the author or editor of numerous
books, including two with a strong focus on issues of identity: An Imperial Possession: Britain in the
Roman Empire (2007) and Imperialism, Power, and Identity: Experiencing the Roman Empire (2011).
His research also encompasses theoretical debate about imperialism and colonialism, Roman pro-
vincial art, and a series of interrelated strands in Trans-Saharan archaeology (urbanization and state
formation, burial and migration, trade and technological transfers).

Matthew M. McCarty is Perkins-Cotsen Fellow in Humanities and Lecturer in Classics at Prince-
ton University. His research focuses on the intersections of images, ritual, and religion in the Roman
world, the subject of Empire and Worship in Roman Africa (forthcoming) and his work as co-director
of the Princeton/Babes-Bolyai/Muzeul National al Unirii excavations at Apulum. He was a fellow in
the Getty Foundation Seminar “The Arts of Rome’s Provinces” (2010-13).

William E. Metcalf is Professor Adjunct of Classics at Yale University and Ben Lee Damsky Cu-
rator of Coins and Medals at Yale University Art Gallery. Previously, he was curator of Roman and
Byzantine coins (1973-2000) and chief curator (1979-2000) at the American Numismatic Society. He
has taught widely, including at Columbia, Princeton, and Rutgers Universities, Bryn Mawr College,
and the Universita degli Studi, Padua, and is the author or editor of numerous books, articles, and
reviews. His most important recent publication is The Oxford Handbook of Greek and Roman Coinage
(2012), which he edited.

Nancy Netzer is Professor of Art History at Boston College and Director of the University’s Mc-
Mullen Museum of Art. She has published books and articles and organized exhibitions in her area
of expertise, manuscripts and works of art of the medieval period. She also writes on the history and
display of collections and the historiography of early medieval art.

Ann M. Nicgorski is Professor of Ancient and Medieval Art History and Archaeology at Willamette
University where she serves additionally as a faculty curator at the Hallie Ford Museum of Art. She
also has extensive archaeological field experience in Greece, primarily at the site of Mochlos on Crete.
Her current research interests include iconography and the dynamics of iconoclash in the ancient
Mediterranean as well as within the various traditions of Christian art. Her publications include con-
tributions to the Mochlos excavation series, the Oregon Encyclopedia, and several articles on Greek
sculpture including the Parthenon frieze and the Chatsworth Apollo.

238

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